Your Mom 'n Me-Part I - sec. 10

Your Mom n' Me
Part I – Startling Discoveries

By John O.

Rating: TnT – PG-13 for language and eventual sexual content - Romance/Drama/Series/AU
Disclaimer – Paramount owns the characters and everything Star Trek related. Unfortunately.

A.N.: Notes are in the previous story. There’s more to come of the ‘balcony dance floor’, be patient, other things must be addressed first ;)

A lot happens in this chapter, the crew must take an unexpected journey after a close call on someone’s life. There’s some more fun Phlox-fake-medical science that I just drew from the terminology of my Adv. Bio in HS to whip up. Enjoy!

Part I – Startling Discoveries

Section 10 (Chapters 19 & 20)

Part I – Startling Discoveries

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Chapter 19

The engineering corridors of the Enterprise had not seen so much activity since its launch. Showers of plasma sparks illuminated the hallways while white-hot plasma conduits sat precariously exposed through several sections. The Enterprisewas under extensive maintenance, upgrades and repairs. Meanwhile, the senior staff and first rotation junior staff enjoyed shore leave. Since the ship docked, half a dozen separate upgrade crews boarded and departed after overhauls of sensory, tactical, navigational and propulsion systems.

The senior science officer on duty was a fresh transfer from Jupiter Station and all too eager to get the upgrades online. It was her first week on the job and Lieutenant Lynch was eager for a chance to impress her new Captain, the famed Jonathan Archer. Ensign Sholes, senior tactical officer, fell violently ill with an unknown influenza virus. It was certainly enough to shake Doctor Phlox from his bored sleep aboard the Enterprise.

As was his custom, Phlox had spent only a fraction of his allowed leave engaged in anything but work related study. For Phlox, however, an alien strain of the flu was more exciting than a month on Risa. As long as the crew’s lives were not in jeopardy, the insidious yet remarkably benign little pathogen sitting in his Petri dish was a welcomed diversion.

As a result of the Ensign’s absence, however, tactical responsibilities fell on Lt. Lynch as the ranking officer. The young woman despised paperwork, but refused to neglect her duties. Supervising the installation of a new deflector matrix kept the bushy-tailed young scientist occupied for hours. The matrix was equipped with the most advanced muon-field coils out of Starfleet Research and she could hardly wait to get her hands on it. The device kept her far more entertained than tracking and verifying security clearances for the myriads of specialists and technical crews arriving and departing every day.

Today, Jessica Lynch was overseeing tests of new power relays for the deflector control overrides, near junction C of B-Deck.

“I believe you are Lieutenant Lynch,” a nearby voice startled her, sending her microspanner mere centimeters from open the plasma conduit below the duct.

“Oh!” she screamed as she collapsed against the bulkhead in panic, causing her visitor obvious concern.

“I apologize, I did not mean to frighten you. Are you injured?” the man asked with clinical detachment.

“No, no I’m fine you just… walked up awful quietly,” she laughed, straightening her uniform as she stood. She immediately recognized the traditional robes and dark eyes of a Vulcan standing before her. He nodded respectfully and presented her with a PADD.

“I am Sub lieutenant Kovosh of the Vulcan Science Directorate. I am here to study the sensory modifications your crew made during the Suliban encounter.”

The girl blinked with a confused frown, sure she had no idea what he was talking about.

Ah! I knew I should have read those mission reports!

“The quantum beacons your Captain used to detect cloaked Suliban vessels,” the Vulcan elaborated.

Her lips writhed as she stuttered in response, “Yes, of course, I was informed of your visit. You know how busy repairs get, it must have slipped my mind,” she lied.

He observed her with great precision, a sort of detached scientific scrutiny. She took the confirmation PADD from him, smiling but finding only a cold stare in return.

“I was told I would find the senior officer in this area of the ship,” his face suddenly brightened and the momentary darkness she spied there disappeared. His eyes moved with disinterest about the corridor as he spoke.

“That’s me!” she smiled back, amiably.

For a Vulcan, he had a generally approachable demeanor, Lynch thought, as she scanned his security clearance code PADD and imprinted it with her security authorization.

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"Right in the middle?!" Kathryn gaped as her husband adjusted in his chair, matching his wife’s shock and amusement.

Jonathan nodded as he put the glass down.

"Took the Enterprise right between the Andorian and Vulcan fleets as they stared each other down," he laughed as a stubborn grin crossed Shran's face.

"He's a foolish human," the Andorian chided affectionately with a chuckle. He glanced to the patio as Trip guided a very surprised T'Pol through a twirl before bringing her back into his arms. Charles and Kathryn smiled at each other proudly as Charlie patted her thigh affectionately. Jon didn’t even try to suppressing his laughter when he caught sight of T’Pol.

"I had no idea he did those kinds of things," Kathryn threw her hands up with an innocent look.

"He hardly ever talks about work. For what he does say, I thought all he did was play with those engines," Kathryn smiled at Jon as Charlie laughed.

Shran looked into his glass and laughed with a sigh.

"There are two things I never thought I'd see, Captain-"

"Shran, I think even you can call me Jon," Shran nodded with a rueful smile.

" 'Jon'," he tried it on. He shook his head dramatically.

"No, no, something about that just doesn't sound right," Jonathan replied through his laughter.

"Jon," Shran insisted. "I never thought I'd see that," his drink-hand moved to motion at the dance floor. Jon nodded knowingly while Kathryn looked at the blue man with interest.

"And I never thought I'd see a human officer serving with a crew of Andorians on an Andorian installation," he slowly met Archer's inquisitive eyes.

“I’ve already been surprised once today,” he baited Archer.

Fully expecting Archer's confusion, he nodded, an affirmation of the impending explanation.

"My government has agreed to a proposal made by Admiral Grant. She believes a joint operation between Andor and Earth is in the best interest of our new relationship as formal allies," Shran sighed as he downed a gulp of his infamous blue liquid.

"And," he nodded with a groan.

"The Imperial Guard has selected me to oversee the program," he sounded disappointed. His three human hosts looked on with confusion, Kathryn with a hint of offense.

"Don't get me wrong Archer, I've gotten used to you pinkskins," he smirked. Kathryn looked to Jonathan as Charlie scowled. The gruff look disappeared into a wince as Kathryn slapped the old man's leg.

"And it carries a promotion to Colonel," he nodded in appeasement at his glass, as if he were talking to the drink.

"So what's the problem?" Archer's inquiry breaking him from the reverie of the glass, he turned back to his favorite pinkskin.

"It's all damned paperwork!" he gruffly snapped at the air.

"It's all, 'thank you Ambassador, yes Ambassador, no Minister, yes Minister'," he complained. "I won't get back into space until I'm sixty, this treaty of ours is going to be the end of me," he huffed under his breath.

Archer snickered as Shran lamented. "Hell, Archer, you'll find yourself in another bind and I won't be there to save your skin this time," he pointed a finger and a smile in Jon's direction.

"So where is this installation?" Archer inquired.

"It's not built yet," Shran shifted in his chair.

"They want it to be a completely new type of project. Designed for both Starfleet and Andorian technology. It will be an orbital facility, the most state-of-the-art ever built. The Andorian Ambassador wanted it built in the Andor system but your leaders agreed to share your matter conversion technology with us if my people would consent build it in Earth's solar system. I believe they're going to put it around the fourth planet, Mars you call it?" Archer nodded.

"The Imperial Guard couldn't resist, and I agreed. That device is an enormous tactical advantage," his smile broadened as he lifted his glass at Archer.

"It's the only reason you got around my men at P'Jem!" he laughed as Archer shifted uncomfortably. Kathryn and Charlie looked at Jonathan in confusion.

"Well,” he began, rubbing his chin.

“We weren't always on friendly terms with the Andorians, our first contact nearly caused a war."

"Yes, your friend Commander Tucker was quite concerned with your science officer's wellbeing back then as I recall," Shran smirked as he shot a glance to the dance floor. Mention of Trip brought Kathryn's attention back to the Andorian. She had been lost in admiring her son and future daughter in law.

"If you hadn't given me that imaging scanner our alliance may never have formed," Shran shifted in his chair.

"I suppose I should thank you for every stack of paperwork I have to sift through and every battle I read a report of instead of fight!” he loudly clanked his glass against Archer's with a chuckle.

Jon threw his hands up in defense, "Don't look at me, I had nothing to do with it."

"Yeah," Shran groaned again, the ale working his guard far out of sight and out of mind.

"I think it was that damn Minister Samuels who made the recommendation to the Andorian Central Command," he shook his head ruefully.

"Oh well," he strained in his chair, military rigidity resuming command of his posture and faculties. He looked up at Archer, blinking a few times, a charismatic smirk finding its way across his lips once again.

"I have to find my Starfleet exchange officer in the next few months to start construction. He's going to be a senior construction designer alongside an Andorian counterpart," Shran tested the waters, but Archer didn't bite. He stepped a bit further, hoping to capture Archer's attention.

"I always enjoyed working with Commander Tucker, I suppose as far as pinkskins go, I could be worse off," he groaned, sneaking a glance at Archer.

Jon nodded momentarily, suddenly jerking his head up at Shran in bewilderment. The motion matched Charlie and Kathryn's, the three replying in seeming unison.

"Trip!?"

“I’ve already lost a good bridge officer to promotion, I don’t know if I can take two,” Jon nodded towards the balcony.

“Oh yeah, who?” Shran cocked his head. If Archer were any other Starfleet Captain the Andorian couldn’t care less. But Shran had worked with just about every member of Archer’s crew, he had even stricken up a conversation or two outside of official business with a few of them.

“Travis, my helmsman, he was offered a promotion to teach new pilots at Starfleet Training, it seems they’re getting an influx of new blood.”

“Good for him!”

Archer nodded. “Got another pip on his uniform and the rite of being the youngest Starfleet flight instructor on record,” Archer beamed proudly. Charles perked up suddenly, a flood of memories from his days in basic flight training returning all at once.

“I already lost my next best candidate for Chief Engineer in a transfer to take the job on Columbia, ” Archer absently rubbed his jaw. His mind wandered as the music began to fade out from the patio. Now he may have to start skimming through the lists of candidates to replace his friend, as much as he hated the thought. He knew Trip loved his job, but designing a station in orbit around Mars might be too exciting a proposition to turn down.

“I doubt Trip and T’Pol will be willing to accept separate posts,” he murmured absently. Scouring the murky waters of fresh planet-side officers made his temples ache, a consequence that could lie ahead if Trip and T’Pol took Shran’s offer.

Jonathan had begun to realize lately that Starfleet needed to get more ships into deep space if they were going to have experienced engineers to run new ships coming out of construction. Trip’s brief stint on Columbiawas nothing if not proof that far too many Starfleet engineers lacked experience in the field.

Then again their careers may be uncertain to begin with. Archer was still waiting for the infuriated voice of Admiral Gardner to wake him up in the middle of the night again. It was an issue Starfleet had dealt with in the past, but their unprecedented deep space assignment changed the stakes. Someday, Archer thought, it will be impossible to prevent officers from fraternizing and raising families on starships. Starfleet, however, may prefer to see that day some later rather than sooner.

“Something tells me if you take one you’ll have to take the other,” Archer snickered. He full expected Shran would be reluctant to take the Vulcan officer onboard the project as well.

Shran nodded in acquiescence, “If I must,” he replied simply, smiling back at Archer who shook his head.

“You’re gonna’ leave me with a bunch of raw cadets as senior officers!” he laughed, downing his glass.

“Consider us even,” he shot the Captain a mock scowl.

Shran chewed his lip. “You know, this exchange program,” he looked Archer in the eye, waiting Archer’s reply to the implication. He remained silent, so Shran continued.

“We’re looking for an Earth ship to put an Andorian officer on. You need a pilot, we have the best in the galaxy,” Shran smiled proudly through his glass at Archer.

Archer nodded pensively, “It’s an interesting idea but…,” he threw up a hand in defense.

“But I’d have to think about it. Have you pitched the idea to Starfleet Command?” Shran nodded silently.

“They think it’s in the best interest of expanding our alliance, continuing our cultural exchange. I have to tell you Captain, I’m very surprised that the new administration in my government is opening its arms to diplomatic talks so easily. However… it probably has something to do with the fact that it pisses off the Vulcans!” Archer laughed softly, but noted that Charles was noticeably amused as well. Kathryn gave him a look to make no mistake that she didn’t approve.

“Besides,” Shran continued.

“If I give you one of the best pilots perhaps taking your engineer isn’t so bad huh?” Shran smiled.

“There’s no such thing as replacin’ Trip, he’s the best,” Archer smiled at Charles who watched his boy from afar.

"I'm sorry to snatch your best engineer, Captain, but that's exactly why I need him," he grinned.

"Besides," he looked towards the patio, a commotion of attention drawing the Captain, Shran and the parents' attention.

The music had stopped and a small circle had formed around a small spot near one end of the dance floor. A cap of short, brown hair stuck out among the peering heads as applause and cheering began to echo through the restaurant.

Shran looked on in apparent understanding, "If I’m not mistaken, a gift is customary in human culture on the eve of marriage, it looks like I can offer him the job just in time!"

Archer leapt from the table in curiosity while Kathryn and Charlie slowly rose, tears in Katy's expectant eyes as she held onto her husband for support.

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Archer, Kathryn, Charlie and Shran all followed the buzz of cheers and gathering crowd. Kathryn’s busy elbows won them a spot at the front of the all the attention, but made Charlie frown. There Kathryn embraced Charles by his waist while Jon shook his head in simultaneous disbelief and endearment while Shran simply wished he had a camera. Nobody at the Imperial Guard was going to believe this.

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T’Pol… Trip called out to her as his hand fell to his waist pocket, his left carefully holding out the Vulcan’s rigidly outstretched arm. Her fingers dangled between her mate’s as she watched him with interest, sunken below her as he crouched nervously on one knee.

Desperately straining to keep his balance as he searched for the item, he finally retrieved a tiny black box. His face flushed with embarrassment and a goofy grin as he looked nervously to his hand to find the box. As he fumbled to hold the box to her inquiring eyes, a wave of “awe’s” erupted from an end of the crowd. T’Pol failed to notice the encircling crowd since they held a wide birth to the silent couple.

Trip, I have sensed you remained secretive about something even after it became clear that you intended to instruct me in this cultural exercise. Would this be another one of your ‘good surprises’?

He silently nodded with a boyish smile, setting T’Pol afire in her most buried Vulcan insides with a bright twinkle of his blue eyes. With his mind now open to her gentle telepathic contact, every morsel of his plan to formally propose to satisfy his human customs became clear. She felt a tinge of discomfort as Trip became aware of the encroaching crowd, growing silent in anticipation as Trip fingered the box.

Thumbing it open, a thin gold border ran atop the ring’s edges, forming a delicately forged miniature of a Vulcan IDIC token at the crest of the ring. The dark gem belonging to the upper portion of the symbol held instead a small diamond of precision cut. Strung around it, bored flat and imbued into the IDIC’s gold surface sat an array of bright green emerald plates surrounding the diamond. Around the tiny triangular edge indented in the gold, hundreds of tiny emeralds shone with a dull sparkle. . To look at, the ring may have appeared unconventional, not exactly your typical Earth-custom engagement ring.

I do appreciate your sincerity husband, however I am curious how many of these rituals human mating customs demands? I believe you have made your intentions quite clear to be my m…

As if the thoughts were plucked from her head, her telepathic link became silent when the case opened and the light of the light struck the symbol of Surak. Imbued with power over her beyond logical explanation, the stones shown dull and magnificent at the same time with the dawning of the light on them.

The color reminded T’Pol of her own blood, dark and thickened with passion as it coursed perilously, heating her insides. The case instantly grabbed her undivided attention, captivating her with shock and surprise more incapacitating than she could comprehend. Reflecting the hue of her people’s blood, the unrelenting glint of the gold burning as bright as the skies above Tarhana. T’Pol felt the blood well in her cheeks and burn around her ears.

“T’Pol,” Trip cracked as his throat knotted with anxiety. He blushed brightly, drawing a smile from his friend Jon not far away and a chuckle from his father.

“T’Pol,” he began again in a whisper hardly carrying beyond her adept Vulcan ears, reaching out for her fingers. To the throngs gathered en masse, the Vulcan appeared unmoved but diligently attentive. Some waited for the moment when this silly human would be humiliatingly rejected on the spot. Then again, those voices whispered, no ordinary Vulcan would be here with him in that dress…

“It would make me the happiest man on the planet, if you would consent to allow me to love…” he choked on a lump and felt himself redden even more before his unintended audience.

The glint of the gold, the edging of the tiny emblem held T’Pol’s attention. Rapt with honor for her, her mate bowed beneath her as her grandfather spoke of Vulcan males of eons past. Begging their mate’s affections, dedicating their energies and lifeblood to their mates; her husband now somehow re-cultivated that extinct exhibition into a single charm.

Twinkling below her gaze it held the providence of human custom met with ancient Vulcan flaw, the submission to emotion, the abandonment of reason and moderation. Her control hung by a finger’s desperate grasp, rippling violently like a cloth dangling over a precipice in the fire planes of Tarhana’s basin. Her breath was fast now and she suddenly realized the pounding in her ears was not the music which had fallen silent but the roar of two simultaneous hearts.

“… to honor, and to cherish our partnership as husband and wife, as mates… for all the days of my life.”

It was hardly a moment later when the ring slipped over her forest-hued skin. It was gorged with steaming blood as she boiled from inside, flushed with the need to touch her chosen. The shocked public was nonexistent to T’Pol, as the ring hit her skin so too the cloth exploded from her fingertips into the boiling heat of Tarhana’s furious winds. And she fell.

Embraced by her mate’s trust and control, she relinquished her own. The ultimate fault of the Vulcan spirit and ultimate strength of the human heart, uniting and balancing more elegantly than any equation. Like the cloth over the cliff, she fell without control, assured in faith that her mate’s open arms would await anywhere she came to rest, and hold onto her until she were strong again.

Ripping him from his knees, she pulled her shocked mate to his feet, throwing her hands to his cheeks, the jewel on her finger sparkling against his skin. She enveloped his lips with her warmth, her tongue dancing slowly and secretly across the curve of his lip. In a moment her passion cured him of his shock and he embraced her warmly. A second later he responded, lighting into her with virulent ardor, his hands sliding slowly around her curvy figure and settling at the small of her back. A crash of broken glass rang out but was swallowed by the cacophony of cheers and whistles, Charles Tucker Junior’s ringing out among the loudest and most obnoxious. Kathryn snapped him in the side as he chuckled and Jon simply put his hands together lightly with a light smirk.

I can’t believe these two, wait till Hoshi hears about this…

As if on cue, a gentleman in a black coat nudged Jonathan from the back of the crowd. Pulled from the throngs of onlookers, Archer made his way to a quiet area where the man informed him of a video call at the restaurant’s private office. An urgent call from a “Lieutenant something” awaited his attention in the back of the restaurant.

A few moments later the startled couple looked up to cheers, applause and a very disappointed Shran. The Andorian hovered over his shattered bottle, its shards concentrated around his feet where he dropped it in shock.

The flushed and embarrassed Vulcan moved out of the crowd, Trip ardently holding to her side as they retreated to their table. T’Pol hoped to seek a fraction of sanctuary from the hoards of onlookers. A tiny voice of Vulcan disdain shouted above the hysteria in her soul that what she just allowed to happen was a foolish and illogical mistake. But her lover’s mind cradled the embarrassed child within who blushed and shriveled at the thought of gawking humans watching her them. The logical voice dribbled away as Trip’s hand welcomed hers in the quiet solitude of their corner table, and more privately her mind and his met in a tranquil union.

Archer, however, grew concerned as he made his way to the back of the room. Through a door a stuffy looking gentleman informed him that a man with a British accent claimed to have a very urgent message for Jonathan Archer. His uniform suddenly tightened and he felt four pips pop from his chest and triple his weight.
A captain is never off duty…

So much for the comfort of civilian life.

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Flashback approx. 1 hour earlier

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“What the hell do you want?” the British zeal of his voice hardly disguised his infuriated tone.

“I can’t believe you had the nerve to contact me again, and here!” his flowery tropical attire made it difficult for Harris to take him seriously as Malcolm crossed his arms. A coy smile crossed the man’s face on the other side of the monitor as he hunched towards the screen.

“You agreed that if I helped you, you were back in the game,” he replied.

“I never said that! What do you want anyway?”

“I see you’ve finally allowed yourself to let your guard down, Malcolm,” Harris made a motion as if to peer about the communications screen to spy his traveling partner. Reed snapped a look in Hoshi’s direction and instinctively moved closer to the communications terminal to block Harris’ view.

Harris’s smile faded when he found Malcolm not amused.

“Oh I see, you’re afraid Hoshi’s going to ask who you’re talking to?” he asked. His eyes narrowed as he shifted, his eyes never leaving Malcolm’s.

“I’m afraid, Agent Reed, that you have much bigger problems,” he continued, his voice deepening. Malcolm’s eyes narrowed at the use of formal rank.

“I’m sending you a decryption matrix, encoded with your own seventy four digit personal authorization code. It’s still active,” Harris added as Malcolm’s eyes narrowed.

“Inactive operatives aren’t supposed to retain their personal authorization codes,” Malcolm whispered as he drew closer to the screen.

When Harris folded his hands in front of him and didn’t respond Malcolm’s jaw nearly dropped. “Those codes grant full administrative override to every Starfleet ship and installation!”

Harris smiled, “I’m glad you remember. And you should know Malcolm, there’s no such thing as an inactive operative.”

Malcolm sighed with exhaustion, abandoning discretion as he leaned on the console and craned his neck to get a good look at Hoshi. She still hadn’t taken notice of his absence, her attention focused on two Brazilian children playing with a stray puppy.

At the foot of towering cathedral, Hoshi had been walking Malcolm through the conquest of Brazil and the rest of South America by Spanish invaders. Malcolm knew the history, or at least, thought he did. He was sure his ‘second-to-none’ British education had taught him everything of this continent’s history in books and holo-images. As they came to rest on the stone barrier of an ancient fountain at the center of a town square, he received the call on his communication pad. Luckily, even the native quarter of Brasilia had not been left out of the communications revolution. At the corner of the square in a tourist shop several meters from the fountain, he was able to procure the use of a visual communications terminal.

He pinched between his eyes briefly in irritation, sternly looking into the monitor with his arms crossed again. The machine let out a short, high pitched beep.

Harris squinted, “The encryption matrix, it should be through now,” Malcolm took the data card as it ejected from the machine.

“PLEASE DEPOSIT TWELVE REAIS,” a strained feminine voice sounded from the bowels of the machine. Malcolm dropped three coins in the archaic device. He took the chip, fingered it suspiciously for a moment before dropping it in his pocket.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me what it’s for?”

Harris sat up, placing his hands flat on the desk before him. It was the only visible furnishing to hint of Harris’ location, such a seasoned operative left no hint to even Malcolm’s trained eye. The background fell into darkness and only a sharp plasma lamp’s silver-coated base could be seen in the corner of the picture.

“It’s the tracking primer for an SCC.”

Malcolm stared in confusion. “Security clearance confirmation, whose? Wha- Where? And what am I to do with it?”

“In about an hour, a Vulcan operative of the Romulan Talus Shiarum will board the Enterprise with forged orders from the Vulcan Science Directorate. His mission is to plant a dicobalt explosive to eliminate Commander T’Pol.”

“One hour?! Why didn’t you tell me sooner, I won’t hardly have time to get back!”

“Because one of my operatives only just received this information,” his voice became strong and astringent.

“He didn’t survive,” Harris added lowly. Malcolm’s gaze fell slightly and became far away, looking into the monitor but seeing only his past.

“Gaines?” he asked in a low and raspy voice.

“I’m afraid so,” Harris replied quietly with a nod.

Suddenly he recalled the organization Harris had referred to. “What is the Talus Sharium? And why would the Vulcan work with the Romulans?”

“The most covert unit of the Romulan intelligence community. They carry out surveillance, sabotage, assassinations, use deception and misdirection to pit their enemies against one another, that sort of thing. You might say they are the closest thing the Romulans have to a ‘Diplomatic Corps,” he smiled dryly. Malcolm was not amused.

Malcolm brooded and a moment later returned his coy smile. “In other words they’re like you,” Harris’s face became as rigid as rock.

His voice lost all color as his next words came like calm thunder creeping slowly across the sky.

“Nobody is like us. You know that.”

He stared at Malcolm a minute before clearing his throat. A moment later a newly manufactured smile graced his deceptive veneer once again.

“And as for the Vulcans helping them, there’s a lot more going on than you realize. Just concentrate on saving your officer’s life and getting me the information I want. You don’t have time to capture him but you might have a chance to find the device or at least get your officer off the ship before it goes off.”

Malcolm had become tense, anxious to get back to Enterprise and stop the saboteur. At the same time he was suddenly terrified of what to tell Hoshi.

“Dammit, why are you helping me?” Malcolm slammed his fist against the transmitter in frustration as he leaned in closer.

“I know you Harris,” his eyes narrowed in disgust. “Nothing is out of the kindness of your heart,” he spat at his former commander.

“Everything is an intelligence game, playing one side against the other, always looking for the upper hand, always an objective in mind, RIGHT? Isn’t that what you taught me? ‘Friends are valuable resources, exploit them’, isn’t that right, wasn’t that your advice?” Malcolm nearly screamed at the viewscreen.

Harris remained unmoved, leaning back in his chair.

“You’re right,” he replied simply.

“I want information. And in exchange I’m giving you vital information you can use to save your officer’s life. That encryption matrix…” he pointed at Malcolm.

“…contains the operative’s SCC who will infiltrate the Enterprise. It proves that his orders came from his direct superior on Vulcan, it identifies the office of the transmission and even contains the voice imprint authorization. I want you to trace the SCC, find out who else in the Vulcan government is working for the mole, and contact me.”

“Who’s the mole?”

“The chief Romulan collaborator on Vulcan, Professor Solkar.”

Malcolm’s jaw dropped and Harris picked up the bait.

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t be convinced, so I’m including security logs our operatives obtained from the Talus Shiarum’s Central Archives. You remember that incident with the holoship? The one that mimicked the Enterprise and attacked several Tellarite and Andorian ships?”

Malcolm nodded.

“The encryption module also indicates that Solkar’s voice imprint was used to order the operatives in charge of the Romulan holoship to mimic the Enterprise in order to attack the Tellarite vessel. He provided the necessary technical specifications of your vessel.”

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Captain’s starlog, April 21st, 2155. I’ve recalled the Enterprise crew from shore leave to investigate the attempted sabotage and murder of one of my crew. It’s been three days since Lieutenant Reed captured the Vulcan saboteur attempting to place a micro-explosive device onboard. Malcolm has been unable to extract information from the prisoner about his motive or accomplices. However, after Commander T’Pol unsuccessfully attempted to interrogate the Vulcan prisoner herself, she has suggested that we head for Vulcan to “discuss” the matter with Chancellor T’Pau. T’Pol seems to think she has the answers we’re looking for...

On a lighter note, I am pleased to formally announce that I have been given the privilege of honoring Hoshi Sato and Malcolm Reed in what I believe has been an event very long in coming.

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A loud whistle rang out in the shuttlebay as Captain Archer stepped through the corridor.

“Captain on DECK!” a voice cried out from somewhere on his left. To one side the catwalk was lined with dozens of crewmen, on the other it extended all the way around to meet the other side. He idly wondered who was running the ship with a turnout this big. It was clear the crewmen were happy to see these two honored in such a fashion. It was something Starfleet should have allowed a long time ago.

“At ease,” Jonathan strolled down the stairway to face his officers, who stood at full attention in ceremonial officers’ garb. He met their eyes briefly with a smile before turning to the bridge officers who stood a few meters away in a rigid line beginning with Trip and T’Pol. To their left stood the junior staff that held the place of their senior tactical and communications officers.

Archer stopped pacing finally and found a spot he liked in front of the two.

“In honor of your unwavering devotion to the safety of this crew, to your dedication to duty and swift action in the face of danger…”

“For courage and valor in combat and unquestioning willingness to give your lives for the safety of Earth, Hoshi Kichou Sato and Malcolm Edward Reed are hereby promoted to the ranks of Lieutenant and Lieutenant Commander, with all the duties and privileges commensurate with that rank,” he stepped forward towards Hoshi.

A torrent of applause and whistles erupted as Hoshi laughed while Archer pinned a solid silver pip on her uniform. She wiped a tear away, shaking the Captain’s hand before he made a face at her and pulled her into a hug. She laughed through tearful eyes, patting him on the back amidst the ovation and smiling as he moved on to Malcolm. The rigid officer had been watching Hoshi with a smile, trying to cast it away when the Captain moved to him. He tried to stiffen into a professional stature, pushing away the smile he wore as he watched Hoshi tear up.

He failed miserably and Archer chuckled as he added a third pin to Malcolm’s shoulder, pitted in its center, with a broad silver lining.

“Lieutenant Commander,” Archer nodded through a smile as he formally shook Malcolm’s hand.

“Sir,” is all Malcolm managed around his grin, trying to maintain his stuffy professional attitude.

“At ease!” Archer cried with a smile above the noise, throwing a hand in the air. The sound was deafening and Archer amicably abandoned any hope of formality. He laughed it off, shaking his head as he made his way for the door. A crowd of officers descended on the two to shake their hands and offer their congratulations, but Hoshi was the first one on Malcolm.

He turned to shake her hand, but before he knew it her black strands were dancing around his shoulders as she planted him with a congratulatory kiss. The surprise was a crowd pleaser but when the kiss continued another ten seconds, the whoops and whistles reached a riotous peak.

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The sickbay doors whooshed open, barely fast enough for Archer who strode through in haste. The doctor wasn’t in sight but an array of clatters and clinging noises alerted the Captain that he was not far away.

”Phlox?”

“Oh yes Captain!” the amiable Donobulan called out, peering through an assortment of creatures and odd medical devices stashed on a secluded shelf. He approached the Captain, illuminating the large biomedical panel with the flick of a few buttons.

“You said you had news of our captive,” his face drawn as Jonathan approached the display.

“Yes Captain,” Phlox exhaled sharply as he prepared himself to deliver the findings.

The large screen came to life, a replacement isopolymetric display installed the last day the Enterprise sat in dock.

“I gave him a complete physical and medical examination, right down to the submolecular genetic sequencing T’Pol insisted,” the doctor huffed, rolling his eyes.

Archer’s fist came to his jaw, cradled in the crook of his arm as he blinked several times and prepared for another lesson in Vulcan microbiology.

A string of DNA fragments appeared on the screen and Jonathan’s eyes brightened with joy when he realized he just might be able to follow Phlox this time. His advisor in college insisted he choose a secondary emphasis to study in case the whole “commanding a starship” thing didn’t pan out. What’d he know, Archer recalled with a satisfied smirk. At the time, he couldn’t imagine when a molecular genetics minor would come in handy.

“That looks like… Vulcan DNA, but it’s missing-” Archer strained, pointing at the screen as his brain swooned while digging back into Doctor Mora’s ‘Exogenetic Structures’ class.

“A sequence of pre-evolutionary nucleonic quantum states in the Thoras region!” Phlox smiled brightly, misunderstanding Archer’s shot in the dark for comprehension.

“Well Captain, you’re absolutely right the nucleo-“

“Phlox, Phlox,” Archer blinked, patting his hand to the air.

“Just start from the beginning,” he smiled back as Phlox chuckled and punched a large keypad, changing screens. A physiological map of the Vulcan nervous system appeared.

“This is the result of my internal scans of our friend in the um, brig,” Phlox squeezed out the unpleasant word with difficulty. He was in a more light and feathery mood than usual, and quite displeased when Mr. Reed had refused to bring the prisoner to the medical bay. Such a drab and, as the doctor pointed out, rather unsanitary little cubby their incarceration facilities were.

“His cardiovascular system, exothorasic cavity, higher brain functions, cerebrospinal density,” Phlox waved his hands in boredom.

“Even heightened neurochemical excretions when subjected to telepathic stimuli match a Vulcan’s empathic and telepathic capacities. All very Vulcan, physiologically.”

“So he’s Vulcan,” Archer twisted his head, his voice flat, with a hint of inquiry.

“We knew that the moment Malcolm caught him, Doctor.”

“Ah,” Phlox threw a finger in the air. “That, is where things get interesting.”

He drew up the genetic diagram once again.

“When I ran the submolecular scan that T’Pol suggested, I found some interesting genetic anomalies in his genetic structure. I searched the computer to identify the nature of the anomalies and the database identified it as a genetic discrepancy. A point zero four percent discrepancy from the catalogued Vulcan genome,” Archer furrowed his brow in confusion.

“I-” Phlox began and stopped as an electric whir signaled a guest. Archer wheeled around to see T’Pol enter sickbay.

“Captain,” she nodded. Archer squinted for a moment and just as she turned from his line of sight, believed he saw a bead of sweat near the base of her neck.

She pursed her lips and steeled her stance, hands tightly clasped behind her back. Archer was sure there was a slight glow to her face and neck as her eyes darted from the doctor to Archer. Her breastbone appeared to heave powerfully as if she was out of breath, but each breath came silent and barely noticeable. A guilty smirk threatened to curl the corners of his mouth, while Phlox openly beamed at T’Pol’s apparent disarray.

With T’Pol’s eyes moving from Phlox to Archer he immediately became impassive and professional in an instant. He laughed inwardly at their awkward interruption of the throws of Vulcan marital celebrations.

No honeymoons, my ass.

“My apologies, Captain, for being late. I was in deep meditation when the Doctor summoned me and it can be… taxing to reassert emotional control so abruptly.”

A moment passed before Archer opened his mouth to speak. Before a word came out, another whir signaled the entrance or Commander Charles Tucker. Archer swiveled just in time to see the engineer attempt to break his run at the threshold of the sickbay doors into a calm saunter.

“Sorry Cap’n, T’Pol and I were down in Engineering… workin’ on the new deflector subsystems,” Trip nodded and turned his attention nonchalantly to his wife and Doctor Phlox.

“Commander, Doctor,” he recited in the formal tone of a fresh cadet. T’Pol avoided the Captain’s gaze with Trip’s feigned explanation as Phlox desperately contained his amusement. Captain Archer repressed another smile, looking to his feet as he shuffled them. He knew it was something Admiral Black would explode over but somehow he just couldn’t be upset about it. It’s too damn funny… he thought, clearing his throat as he resumed Captain-mode.

“Phlox was just telling me about the results of the genetic scans you requested, Commander,” he nodded at T’Pol who glanced in his direction, then back to Phlox. Her eyes were inquisitive and empty on the outside.

Still amazes me you can look so collected, darlin, Trip teased her. Sending images of their romantic encounter minutes earlier, he nearly seized in the warmth she reflected at the feelings.

It is difficult to control my emotions for you following intense… mating. We must focus, husband, she stiffened as her concern and focus returned. I believe the doctor has important information that concerns us both.

Trip started listening as he realized Phlox had already been talking.

“…so you see, Captain, the quantum states embedded in these nucleotide sequences are like a record of a species’ evolutionary changes. However, we cannot interpret their meaning until enough quantum dispersion states form in the pre-evolutionary base pairs to constitute a phenotype. Even then, the outward change is likely to be imperceptible,” Phlox shook his head. “Like a thousandth of a percent in the acidity of a digestive enzyme.”

Archer remained silent, waiting for the important part as T’Pol kept her eyes trained on the doctor, following diligently.

“I have never seen the point zero four variance in genetic makeup this man exhibits. Nearly all Vulcans today share an absolutely identical genetic makeup. At the Donobulan Medical Academy it was hypothesized that some species living on remote outposts, isolated from the rest of their species might exhibit a point zero one variance after, uh,” the doctor stuttered as he fidgeted the numbers.

“Ten generations or so, in extreme conditions, but not like this. I can’t explain it Captain,” he huffed in defeat.

“Superficially, physiologically, even neurochemically - he appears to be Vulcan. But his genetic structure is different. If he is a Vulcan, his descendents have been evolving somewhere other than Vulcan for… at least twelve hundred years, perhaps longer.”

T’Pol’s eyes lowered silently in deep contemplation of the doctor’s findings.

“Captain, I believe we should contact Professor Solkar,” T’Pol interjected as she turned to Archer.

His face dropped, “Solkar? What would he know about this, and what if he’s really a co-conspirator?”

“I am certain he is not,” she replied firmly, her voice raising slightly.

Archer pursed his lips, looking down at T’Pol through sympathetic eyes.

“Funny, T’Pol, I expected you to say that our past experiences with Harris suggest there be more to the truth than he’s revealed,” he baited her. She huffed inside as her denied logic reared its head again, quelling the anger at the accusations against Solkar.

“That would be a valid assumption,” she lifted an eyebrow and turned to exit sickbay. Trip looked solemnly from Phlox to Archer silently and nodded, following her through the door. As he turned Jonathan gave him a light slap on the shoulder. Trip turned and returned the gesture with a hand on Jon’s shoulder and a renewed smile, one that lit up his friend’s face in return. It was then that Jon realized that even in the midst of investigating Vulcan espionage and an attempt to destroy his ship, things were finally returning to normal.

He smiled as Trip turned again and followed his mate, who waited for him several paces down the corridor leading to her quarters.

Author’s After-Chapter Note:

The character Lt. Lynch is intended to be an homage to captured/rescued PFC Jessica Lynch, I was looking for a name and it just came to me. I picture her when I pictured this young science officer, if that helps to picture the scene. Also ‘Doctor Mora’ who taught Archer’s Exogenetic Structures class is taken from Dr. Mora on DS9.

I also took a liberty with slightly changing the name of the DS9/Voy/TNG-era Romulan Intelligence, the Tal Shiar. I thought it would be more interesting if they were around this early in history but had a longer name, implying that by the time the DS9-era organization was around, their name had been shortened for more convenient use.

Also a kind of important note on Malcolm and Harris. Because I began this story prior to the airing of Bound, nothing from the Demons/TP arc between Harris and Malcolm is represented here. However, in order to jive with the fact that Malcolm agreed in Terra Prime to “be back in the game” in order to talk to Harris about Susan Corey, I have included a similar line. It’s not exactly a model of continuity but it helps to explain why Malcolm is both pissed at Harris (after Divergence) and is willing to work with him to help Trip and T’Pol once again.

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Chapter 20

T’Pol slipped out of her uniform and moved towards her closet. She pulled out a red silk robe and a matching ribbon-like sash that flowed about her waist as she fastened it. Her mind was quiet for the first time in many weeks. While she relished the presence of her mate’s consciousness, it was a peaceful tranquility to be without his chaotic emotions. She felt refreshed now that they had reached a new level of shielding between one another, but mastery would require much more time, perhaps years. He was always there if she sought him, could still feel his baser needs and heard when he called out to her, but the steady stream of thoughts and emotions could now be quieted when they wished.

As she moved about the room arranging her meditation mat, she suddenly yearned for a cup of tea. But it was late, she was dressed down and was certainly not in the mood to redress and walk down to the Mess Hall after such a tenuous day.

She could sense that the Captain doubted Solkar’s innocence and it roused the more unruly Vulcan emotions, making it difficult not to lash out at him. There were many instances while discussing the situation rationally with the Captain and staff when Mr. Reed made comments insinuating he believed the operative Harris’ information. Perhaps, her calm and relaxed mind now told her, Mr. Reed simply has a biased view of Harris’ intelligence gathering capability. Then again, perhaps he knew more than he would say.

Again, T’Pol was forced to resist the rising heat in her gut, the one of fire and anger rather than heat and passion as her lover so often summoned. She had gotten used to the chaos of the passions Trip roused in his mate, and ceased to fear them as she once had. He held the power to quell them as well as stoke them from the fire within her.

They had been mated for over two months and the fiery need to have him constantly near her had subsided to a calm and steady blaze, one whose fuel she could never imagine running out. And since Trip’s end of the matebond followed T’Pol’s telepathic lead, he too was finding it easier to live a normal life without constant physical contact with his mate. The shielding practices led T’Pol to often be surprised by his appearance at the door or around a corner; a fact which she began to realize had a surprisingly pleasant effect on her.

It was then that quite appropriately, two surprises entered her quarters. As she kneeled before a pair of candles, her senses aching for the release of a warm cup of tea, her quiet mate moved closer.

“Sorry I didn’t knock,” he smiled as he balanced two precariously teetering plates, slipping through the door.

One carried a steaming cup of chamomile tea, the other a medium sized piece of Boysenberry pie.

“I remembered how you loved my mama’s pie, I snuck some out of the house for ya,” his eyebrows lifted with a smirk as he met her across the candle, landing the pie on one side and the tea in front of her. The vapor rose quickly with the heat of the flame, tickling her nose and instantly evaporating the tension in her chest. The same arousal that crept upon her at Trip’s human surprises and gentlemanly favors tickled at her insides again.

The predictability of the telepathic bond, being linked at all times to one another’s thoughts omitted an exciting aspect of the engineer’s charm. It was his surprises and unpredictably chaotic motivations that drew her to inspect this human with a closer eye in the first place.

She sipped her tea in silence as the shielding collapsed, the welcoming embrace of Trip’s mind meeting her at the door.

“That’s nice,” he relaxed into the heat of the flame and the return of his mate’s telepathic presence. His hands opened palm-up, extending over the mat to meet T’Pol’s. Their eyes both closed in meditation as the candlelight danced through the shadows of T’Pol’s quarters in silence. Her breathing was even and level but her eyes fluttered several times and she began to sweat as the calmness she sought eluded her. For several minutes T’Pol struggled to visualize the white room and bring her mate into it with her, for his telepathic abilities depended completely upon her own. He could receive her mind, respond when she sought him out and express feelings when she listened. But for a human with much lower telepathic capacity than even the most inept Vulcan, Trip was extraordinarily sensitive to T’Pol’s buried feelings and emotions. Several minutes passed as he tried to assist her, to absorb her tension and calm her with his touch and companionship. But he was only beginning to accomplish these techniques on a level sufficient to assist her, and the frustration over failure made it impossible for T’Pol to find peace.

Finally breaking the quiet, Trip sensed the source of T’Pol’s uneasiness.

“You’re upset about Solkar.”

I do not have anything to be upset about, it is not logical for a man who has served Vulcan so long to become a… she refused to even think the words, resorting to their mental link. It was powerful and expressive in close contact, with their minds cleared and no one else present. The power of her emotions rocked him as she approached the word she feared would take form.

“Traitor?”

Traitor is a human word implying an emotional response…

“And you’re havin’ an emotional response!” he chided her stubborn denial. Her eyes opened, abandoning the futile endeavor to find peace. She stared at him with apathy until he cocked his head at her and squeezed her fingers intimately.

“Come on T’Pol,” he released her left hand and moved the candle aside. Softly pushing the plate holding her cup of tea a few centimeters, he nudged forward until he sat cross-legged only a hair’s breadth from her. He leaned forward and brought her hands into a clasp with his own.

“I know you’re upset, the evidence against Solkar looks pretty bad, but you gotta’ have faith in him, I’m sure there’s something to explain all this,” he begged, waving his hand. Her eyes moved from staring into the deck panel to his face, studying it intensely as if it were some new thing that fascinated her.

In a single but slow motion she released his fingers and brought them to his neck. She tilted forward, pulling his willing flesh to meet her lips in a soft but deeply passionate kiss, feeling every inch of his pleasure reverberate with the flick of her tongue across his.

Releasing Tucker’s lips she regained her rigidity and sat motionless in her meditative position. Trip licked his lips in reply and returned to his place across the candles. A minute shudder accompanied a drop in the ambient hum that most ears couldn’t pickup. The Vulcan’s were carefully attuned, and perked up as T’Pol’s eyes opened once again. She glanced towards her window, and the trained ears of a Starfleet engineer, although human, detected the change as well.

“Well you won’t have to wonder for long, we just dropped outta’ warp. Looks like we’re here,” he stood to peer out the window as T’Pol rose and moved to the viewport. Below her the barren deserts of the red planet’s eastern hemisphere lie hidden beneath a dark red swirl, a powerful sand storm shrouding the former Syrannite encampment. She turned from the window, avoiding her mate’s eyes as she let out a tiny breath.

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“Captain”, T’Pol called from her station as they approached the planet.

Looking to his science officer he began to give the order to Hoshi to hail the Vulcan High Council, when T’Pol interrupted with a raised eyebrow.

“We are receiving a signal from the surface,” she punched a few buttons, moving closer to her console. Her eyes moved across the readouts as she inspected the sensor scans, then settled on the screen. Her eyes became wide but for several moments she did not speak.

“Captain, it is Professor Solkar. The message is text only.” her voice wavered a moment in uneasiness. Archer approached her station, his steps bringing a steely construction to her posture and composure, replacing her momentary instability.

“Text only…what does it say?”

Her eyes darted in uncertainty for a moment, then refocusing on the Captain.

“It is only a single word, roshta, ” Archer’s brows sunk in confusion.

“I believe it is intended to inform me that he wishes to meet on the surface. It is a Vulcan word, a very unusual dialect that I do not believe anyone else would use.”

Archer weighed the risks as he paced across the bridge. Finally, he turned from T’Pol. Released from his professional inspection, she allowed herself a moment of introspection. Sharing this peculiar event with her mate, she called him to the bridge to join them on the surface shortly.

Tucker looked up from a diagnostic log of the engines’ runtime efficiency and looked about engineering. A few blonde strands poking out of an access hatch caught his attention and he marched towards the young woman.

“Anna I need to head to the bridge, I could be gone for awhile,” his eyes sunk in concern. He suddenly looked up to realize the blonde engineer had pulled herself out of the relay junction, covered in plasma grease and was searching his face for an explanation.

“I’ll be back before too long but you’re in charge ‘till then,” he nodded, making his way to the bridge.

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Malcolm manned his station on the bridge as the Captain moved toward the turbolift with T’Pol in tow.

“Captain.”

Archer swiveled at the door of the lift, meeting Reed’s eyes.

“I’m sending a security team to meet you at in the shuttlebay.”

T’Pol blinked absently at Lt. Commander Reed who squirmed under her gaze, he suddenly felt very as though she would leap at him. It was no secret Malcolm doubted Solkar’s innocence. Many years of experience with Harris’ organization made it difficult for him to ignore the evidence, regardless of what he thought of the man personally.

“I don’t think that’s necessary Commander, the three of us will be all right without an armed security detail,” Archer replied. He turned to enter the turbolift, drawing a confused look from Mr. Reed. Only T’Pol and Jonathan departed the bridge for the shuttlebay, but Archer said ‘three of us’. As he expected, Trip met them halfway down the corridor.

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As the shuttlepod grappler heaved when the magnetic couplers disengaged, Malcolm strode into the security office near the rear of the Armory. Upon entering, he dismissed the only crewman on duty. The shift rotations were light since a number of security personnel were tied up in debriefings when Archer made the call to disembark ahead of schedule. As a result, Malcolm had a skeleton crew, but at this particular moment he appreciated the isolation to study his private security files.

He sank into the chair, calling up the complete file of Chancellor/Ambassador/Professor Solkar, the penultimate Vulcan statesman. His career had spanned three centuries, from humble beginnings as a junior attaché of the Vulcan Ambassador to Coridan, stretching over one hundred fifty years of diplomacy and acclaim. After Harris’ accusations, Malcolm spent many hours obtaining files regarding the man’s entire life. After decades in service of the Diplomatic Corps he served as the Vulcan High Command’s Chancellor, many years ago. His career changed when he served the Vulcan Ministry of Security, operating as diplomatic attaché to the Vice Chancellor. Eventually leaving the Ministry at the turn of the 22nd century, for many years his records became spotty at best. His name cropped up again in Malcolm’s search, showing a retirement from duty. He spent the next thirty years studying the art of Kohlinar and Shal-fai-tukh, or as the database translated it, “self knowledge.” He retained the title of ‘Professor’ by choice as well as by dutifully delivering guest lectures at the Diplomatic Academy and intermittently serving the Security Ministry.

Malcolm had assembled the profile from a number of sources, every now and then coming to a roadblock of lost data. He unpleasantly recalled being forced to call in a few favors from some unsavory previous acquaintances. Malcolm hadn’t conducted a simple surface security check as many of his routine duties required. He had sources of information the Captain was best left unaware of for his own good. Sources he was unsure if even Harris was aware of, contacts from “services rendered” during Malcolm’s tour of duty in covert intelligence.

The information was nearly complete, and included a few instances over the past twenty years of Solkar’s life when his records simply seemed to drop off. Such as the week after the Enterprise returned from the Expanse, the man seemed to just disappear from any electronic records. Even when monks and clerics took meditative retreats into isolation, there was always an indication of booking transport, but in many cases none could be found.

Then there was the eighteen months prior to the bombing of the Earth Embassy on Vulcan. Days later he showed up in attendance of a Vulcan Security Cabinet meeting under the title, “Cleric Advisor.” Then, again became a ghost for several weeks afterwards. As Malcolm assembled the data each day as they neared Vulcan, the results were not turning in Solkar’s favor.

The periods were erratic and he soon began to realize after staring at the screen for nearly an hour it would take weeks to assimilate all this information. He rubbed his eyes with a groan and realized he wasn’t actually disappointed. Something about an investigation stirred an old excitement in Malcolm Reed, a feeling he had hung up to dry many years ago. A thrill he discarded when he vowed to honor the uniform. He refocused on the data monitor, one side of it listing various political events regarding Earth and Vulcan and on the other side Solkar’s activities for corresponding dates. He was determined to find some connection. He wasn’t certain Harris was telling the truth or not, but he was going to find out one way or another.

He was torn from concentration when a communications notice erupted from the panel on the wall. When he stood and activated the panel, a long sharp whistle was followed by three abrupt beats in the subharmonic spectrum.

“What the bloody hell…” he winced at the screeching panel. The beats reverberated through the panel’s speaker, and another loud whistle came. The pattern repeated itself, three beats, one whistle. The memory pounded Malcolm in the chest like a hammer. Three beats, one whistle. Three-One. He froze near the wall, his hand still resting on panel as the sound repeated over and over. Then he suddenly shook his head and pounded the box.

“Computer,” he sighed. The machine responded with a beep. In irritation he rubbed his forehead. Someone ought to give that bloody box a voice, he mused.

“Reroute primary communications protocols through security file Reed-two-two-beta and attune subharmonic resonator to four-five-mark-two-charlie…”

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On the bridge Hoshi sat at her console with her nose buried in a copy of Vulcan Love Slave. She hadn’t dared to pull it out while T’Pol was still on the bridge. She understood the Commander’s disgust with the “Vulcan without Logic”, but couldn’t resist when the High Council condemned the book. Its author had been a member of the V'tosh ka'tur dissident group of Vulcans who embraced their deepest intimate emotions. Naturally, the book had no reader base in Vulcan society, however it was wildly popular and controversial on Earth, circulating among the public. The Vulcan government had strictly denied any Vulcan wrote such an emotional disgrace against the path of Surak.

She was just getting to the juicy part when her console snapped a few clicks and beeps in her direction then fell silent. Her eyebrows lifted above the pages which had kept her attention and her femininity rapt since the shuttlepod departed. Her duties had been few and far between since their mission was an impromptu departure from spacedock. She didn’t even have a full staff, so there was little purpose in a duty roster. Consequently, she leaned back in her chair on the bare bridge in comfort. Until the noise startled her that is.

“That’s strange,” she muttered as she fingered through the communications logs. All the logs were gone but something had tripped the security sensor she put in. It was meant to detect even the cleverest infiltration of the security subsystems. When they returned to the ship after the assailant attempted to assassinate T’Pol, Malcolm was furious that his security was so ineffective he had to be told about it by Harris. Hoshi recalled how she insisted they revamp security on the comm. system. Malcolm had replied with a rueful frown that Starfleet Security wouldn’t exactly be quick to come up with new communications security protocols.

But he had a trick or two he had developed on his own, and helped Hoshi devise a new detection grid. Little did he know, she made a few modifications herself after he left. It was not as though she suspected he might be the one to override them, but she proudly demanded she design the protocols herself.

After inspecting her new tracking system as it lie in ruins at the feet of her would-be infiltrator, she gasped and tore out of the bridge with a fury.

“Ensign you have the bridge!” she screamed at the terrified junior officer at the helm.

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“… Engage Priority one override of primary and secondary communications monitors. Connect on channel Gamma, category Black.”

Harris’ personal detection system activated, its monotone voice playing calmly from the comm. speaker. “ENTER AUTHORIZATION CODE. YOU HAVE SIXTY SECONDS.”

Malcolm’s jaw dropped in surprise. Scrambling to the key panel he shut his eyes in concentration. It had been years since he had to use that code, and damned if he could remember ever only having sixty seconds. Must be gettin’ jumpy Harris…

A few moments later the man’s form appeared in all black on the center console.

“Glad to see you still haven’t lost your touch,” he smiled at Malcolm who couldn’t help but accept the invitation.

“Only sixty seconds to enter a seventy-four digit code, you must be getting a little nervous,” Malcolm smirked in return.

“Can’t be too careful these days, there’s a lot of activity in our world Malcolm.”

He crossed his arms and leaned back, unaware he would soon regret not tapping the door to alert him to surreptitious visitors.

“I assume you’ve sufficiently covered this transmission,” he nodded at Malcolm.

“We can speak in confidence,” Malcolm replied evenly. A pair of dark eyes narrowed as her trained ears perked to hear the conversation.

“What have you learned?” Harris began as if the no time had passed since the last time Malcolm officially reported to his section head. Malcolm fell in step like a pro without realizing it.

“I’ve assembled all available information about the Professor, and there are a number of discrepancies…” his eyes narrowed. Hoshi almost choked, throwing a hand over her mouth. She was horrified that Malcolm was going behind the Captain’s back, not to mention betraying Trip and T’Pol to bring incriminating information about member of her family to this spy.

“But I have no new information to suggest he’s working with the Romulans, the Captain and T’Pol went to the surface about an hour ago to meet with him.”

Harris lost his congenial manner as his face twisted in surprise. “You didn’t insist on accompanying them, there’s no way they’ll tell you the truth if they discover he’s operating for the Romulans, they know your loyalties ar-”

“My loyalties lie with my friends, Harris! I am doing this for them, not for you. If Solkar is a danger to Trip and T’Pol I’m going to find out, in the meantime I don’t care what you want to hear, or if you think I’m being naïve dammit! Outside of the organization you can afford to have friends!”

Harris nearly laughed in response, but instead steeled it away and smiled dryly. He sank into his chair and folded his hands with the same duplicitous demeanor that drove Malcolm from the Section to begin with. He was tired of never knowing who to trust, who’s going to be signing your death sentence the moment you walk from the room.

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “I’ll contact you,” as he reached for the panel Harris nearly leapt from the chair.

“Wait…there’s something else,” he raised a hand calmly.

Malcolm stopped dead, frozen in uncertainty. “What?”

Harris huffed in return. “Certain… elements in the organization don’t want to see Archer eliminated. They believe he is…” Harris sighed in skepticism.

“…Necessary to ensure things go the way we want them to in Starfleet in the coming years. It’s not up to me,” he clearly didn’t enjoy confessing his own limitations in authority.

“But if Archer is eliminated, my superiors will be very unhappy. You might want to join them on the surface,” he glared at Malcolm in implication. For several moments the two were silent until Malcolm nodded wordlessly and punched the channel closed. After a shrill beep indicated the image was gone, Hoshi assailed him, her open hand wracking the side of his cheek.

“Ow! What in the bloody,” he turned to find the slap came from Hoshi. Her face held nothing but contempt, “How could you Malcolm!”

On the edge of tears she lunged at him again, this time her flailed movement allowed his greater strength to resist her and hold her arms.

“I’m only trying to help keep them safe Hoshi!”

“You swore to the Captain! And to me that your loyalties were here, with Captain Archer!” she screamed at him, nearly in tears. His eyes fell on her in shame as she rocked in anger in his grasp, “Let go of me!”

He set her arms free, but her momentum sent her reeling a few feet and nearly toppling to the floor.

“Hoshi,” he called in concern, stepping forward to hold her.

“I promise you, I have to do this to protect my friends, there’s a lot going on that nobody knows about, the Romulans are playing a serious game, they’re aren’t fooling around and they want T’Pol dead!”

He moved closer to her, only centimeters from her heaving breath as she recovered from her assault. She forced her eyes to the floor to avoid his enchanting gaze, sternly steeling herself from falling into his body.

“And T’Pol’s not the only one,” his hands met the slope of her arms by her side, gently, without restraint. “I don’t believe anyone on this ship is safe right now, they have proven they’re willing to commit an open attack to accomplish their goal and they don’t care who gets killed in the process. I couldn’t live with myself if I turned away from the responsibility of protecting everyone onboard...”

“Or protecting you…”

She wiped an errant droplet from her cheek and forced her arms across her chest, as badly as they wanted to seek him out and believe his words were true. A coarse breath escaped him as he retreated from her space, not wishing to force his closeness.

“I have to go down there Hoshi, they may be in danger,” he looked down at her one last time as she finally lifted her eyes to meet his. He turned and took two quick strides towards the door and disappeared across the Armory, leaving Hoshi standing in his office.

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Shuttlepod One shuddered slightly as it was released from the magnetic clamps and began a descent towards Vulcan’s looming horizon. The Captain sat at the helm since only the three of them were on this journey as a result of T’Pol’s warning to limit the number of people present. He didn’t fully understand why, but he was too damn anxious to get some answers out of Solkar to sit and argue in the shuttlebay. Idly staring into the console ahead of her, T’Pol contemplated the information she half-suspected Solkar to provide them. In truth, much of her wish to keep their contingent small was her suspicion that certain *private* information may be revealed.

“So T’Pol, how did you know the message was from Solkar, exactly?” Archer asked over his shoulder. Behind him Trip and T’Pol filled adjacent seats. The two were seated close so that their shoulders and made contact, but maintained professional detachment. Tucker could feel her uneasiness as they neared the surface, but she was also anxious to see her forefather. She was unsure how to react to the evidence against a man who had served her family, her planet – for so many years. A cold war of passions waged behind her eyes as they stared out the window.

On one end of the front her cold and detached scientific viewpoint insisted the evidence could not be ignored, while her less controlled instincts refused to believe the treachery of a … loved one. The phrase only echoed for a fraction of a second, deep within her thoughts in the places where they were born and could exist without restraint for an instant, unguarded.

It was a human word, repeated from the darkness of her memory where it had been observed in use… but did she, could she, understand it? Did it define her bond to Solkar, her bond to Trip? She struggled to defend Surak’s path to the powerful intimacy cementing itself between her and Trip.

Trip felt the tensions and wanted to reach out and comfort her, but knew he couldn’t, not in the Captain’s presence.

T’Pol was caught off guard by the Captain’s question, suddenly looking up as he waited for her answer. The shuttle was on autopilot and he had swiveled around while her thoughts warred with one another, oblivious to his inquiry. She blinked several times and took a long breath.

“The word in the transmission, it is of an ancient Vulcan dialect that is no longer spoken. Few on Vulcan are aware of its existence; even fewer are capable of using it. It was taught to me as a small child, by Professor Solkar. I believe he will be waiting at the southwest foot of Mount Seleya.”

Archer nodded and turned back to the console, entering the new flight plan into the autopilot program. Trip took this opportunity and found T’Pol’s hand with his fingers. She started at his touch but he couldn’t help it, and he felt her anxiety instantly begin to lessen. Her eyes darted back to the Captain at the front of the spacecraft, but he continued to maintain the pod’s descent.

Her breath slowed and her eyes returned to Trip’s, drawing a smile from his lips. His fingers wrapped around hers as their joined hands fell to the gap between their seats, partially hidden from view should the Captain turn to face them.

T’Pol permitted the affection for the remainder of the journey to the rendezvous. Every few minutes Archer would cock his head to the side and update on their status, and every time Trip waited for T’Pol to jerk from his hand when the Captain turned.

In truth, she never flinched or started each time the Captain turned an eye, only threw herself deeper into the comfort of her mate’s welcomed touch. Slipping into a calm peace, she found release in Trip’s closeness from the uncertainty of Solkar’s plight. If only for just a few minutes as the Vulcan soil rose higher and higher.

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End Notes: Vulcan Love Slave, for those who don’t know, is mentioned a handful of times by Quark in DS9 as an erotic holosuite program. Since we know many holo-novels come from conventional novels, I thought it’d be interesting to seek out Vulcan Love Slave’s origins ;).

Part 1, section 11 (Chapter 21 & Epilogue)

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One person has made comments

The style of this is impressive. I do believe that your writing gets better with every installment. "Vulcan Love Slave", huh? Wanna write us an excerpt as an NC-17 treat?

Where do you get all this impressive technical vocabulary? Is it from Star Trek novels or movies/shows, from your fertile imagination, or is some of it current technology that I'm just too technologically ignorant to have ever heard of?