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Chapter 1. Archer

"Well, that's the offer on the table. The only offer. We can take it or leave it. And Admiral Forrest made it clear that Starfleet wants some kind of agreement. If we can't get a treaty, we need a guarantee of neutrality at least. If the Hev'shori came in on the wrong side they could change the whole balance of power in this quadrant."

Among the officers around the table, Phlox was the first to stir. His face was a study in indignation. "Captain, I must protest. Even if the subject's survival is guaranteed, the mental trauma involved in such an experiment could be catastrophic."

"But survival would be guaranteed." T'Pol spoke slowly.

"There are other things of equal importance to merely physical survival, Sub-Commander." The Denobulan spoke with uncharacteristic sharpness. "And as a Vulcan, I would expect you to share that opinion."

"I do share it, Doctor. But the person involved has already indicated his willingness to take the risk."

"In these circumstances I cannot imagine that the lieutenant has the slightest understanding of the magnitude of the risk." His gaze switched to the tense face across the table from him. "I do not doubt your courage for a moment, Lieutenant. But this is something completely outside our experience."

"War games, isn't it? If I understand correctly." A shadowy smile came and went. "You can't be implying I don't understand those, Phlox."

"It's a mite more complicated than war games, Lieutenant," said Trip bitingly. "They want to play this one in your head."

Captain Archer sat back, drumming his fingers on the table top. He felt as though he'd been put in an absolutely impossible position. It wasn't the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last. But this order seemed particularly cold-blooded. His whole gut instinct was to tell the Hev'shori to go to hell and take their treaty with them, but he was all too aware of how finely balanced the situation out here would be if the war did erupt.

He glared out of the observation room window. The huge alien ship was still motionless a couple of kilometers off their starboard bow, waiting for an answer to their proposal. If the answer was no, as he wanted it to be, it would see them off Hev'shori territory and disappear. There would be no second chances. These people didn't practice the fine arts of diplomacy and negotiation. They stated their terms, and it was 'take them or leave them'. And Admiral Forrest had left him in no doubt that 'leave them' wasn't an option, at least as far as Starfleet was concerned.

But this was a hell of a way to establish a relationship.

War games.

Or more specifically, a war game.

One chosen representative of the ship's crew – in effect, a representative of Starfleet, if not Earth itself – had to submit himself to a test using the Hev'shori's technology that would transport him, mentally, into a battle scenario. It was apparently regarded as a concession that the technology would select a scenario from a period of Earth's history as provided by the ship's database. But the participant would have no say in which period it would be. Nor would he know, once in it, that it was only a simulation. As far as he would be concerned, it was the real deal. Life or death.

And his behavior would be the measure of humanity as far as the Hev'shori were concerned. They were a warlike people; according to the one small mention they got in the Vulcan database, they valued courage above everything. But what else they might value was a closely guarded secret. That was what they would be looking for in the 'laboratory rat' in their little experiment.

No concealment possible. The lab rat would act out of instinct, out of training. He would be what his life, and Starfleet, had made him.

And, given Malcolm's past, Archer couldn't help but feel that they were taking a horrendous risk. Even after running all the checks he could, and some that strictly speaking he shouldn't have been able to, the man remained in some ways a closed book to him.

There had been a time when he'd accepted Lieutenant Malcolm Reed at face value, but that was history. His trust was no longer the absolute thing it had been once; damage like that couldn't leave any relationship completely intact. The rebuilding had been slow, but it had happened. He believed that now Malcolm did regard him as his CO in more than name and gave him his ultimate loyalty. But then, he'd believed that before. And questioning him would achieve nothing. Reed could, when necessary, lie so convincingly he'd have you believing water was dry. Look how he'd got through the interview boards.

But there seemed no alternative. If there was a soul on board better able to cope with being pitchforked into a battle situation, he didn't know of one.

And yet, Phlox's concerns couldn't be ignored. To deliberately subject one of his crew to something that might leave him traumatized, possibly for life, seemed like an appalling betrayal on his part. Weren't captains supposed to safeguard the people under their command?

Silently he damned Forrest for giving him these orders. He'd have volunteered to do the job himself, but that move had been anticipated and blocked. Although no names had been named, the Admiral knew as much as he did – and probably more – about Malcolm's past. He'd said with unmistakable meaning that it was a good thing that Enterprise had 'the right man for the job' on board. Presumably he was of the opinion that Reed was unlikely to be traumatized by the terror and bloodshed of a battle. Well, maybe he was right and maybe he wasn't, and if Malcolm had any objections on that score he certainly hadn't voiced them when the idea was put to him, but then he wouldn't, would he? On far too many occasions Archer had witnessed his tactical officer's almost suicidal willingness to put his life on the line.

That didn't make this right.

He sighed. The bottom line was, he didn't have any options. Somebody had to do this, and if he were to bypass Malcolm and give the job to his second-in-command, or anyone else for that matter, it would fatally undermine the lieutenant's standing as head of his department, broadcasting to one and all the information that he didn't trust his own tactical officer. Reed would have no choice after that but to resign his post and ask for a transfer to another ship.

If it had just been the decision to inflict hellish damage on the man's feelings, he thought he could have done that. After all, Malcolm couldn't have cared all that much about his feelings when he pulled that stunt with Harris. As these thoughts went through his head he was aware that his motives were divided: the awareness of the risk of placing such a vital mission in the hands of a man he still didn't fully trust was entangled with a far darker urge – to pay back some of the hurt he himself had sustained when their relationship took that all-but-fatal blow. But a lot more was involved here than either of their personal feelings. With a war threatening, the last thing Enterprise needed right now was disruption in her command hierarchy and a vacancy at the top of the tactical and weaponry section. For whatever else he might be, Reed was a first class weapons officer. Forrest had been right: he was the man for this job.

If he could be trusted. If there wasn't still some counter-programming running in the background, some mental conditioning that could be activated if necessary. If Section 31 hadn't decided for some nefarious reasons of their own that, whatever the official line on this alliance was, there were reasons why it might not be such a good idea after all. If that was the case, they would have the perfect saboteur. Alone, acting on his own authority, and in prime position to blow the whole mission without anyone at all ever being the wiser.

If, for any reason, he failed the test, whatever it was … nobody but he would ever know it had been deliberate. His captain would have to carry around with him for the rest of his life the question of whether he should have done differently and sent someone else, whatever the cost.

He still had faith in his gut instinct, however. And despite what had happened, his gut instinct wanted very badly to trust Malcolm Reed.

He raised his eyes. His officers were waiting for his decision.

"Phlox, I'm going to want you to check out all the information on this process that the Hev'shori will give us. See what you can to do help mend any … 'collateral damage' afterwards. Your objection's noted, but I can't see any other way round this."

The Denobulan gave a displeased grunt, but nodded.

"T'Pol, contact them and tell them we accept. Get the details on the process and set up a time. I want Phlox to monitor Malcolm's condition at all times or the deal's off. Find out if we can do it aboard Enterprise, preferably in Sickbay. If we're trusting them enough to let them mess with his head, it might be nice of them to trust us enough to come on board our ship while they do it."

"I doubt whether they will comply with that request, Captain. They are a deeply suspicious and secretive people." It hardly needed elaborating; the representative of the species who had spoken to them over the comm link had been wearing a helmet with a face plate that covered him from brow to chin but for a narrow visor. Apparently, until cordial relationships were achieved none of the Hev'shori would show themselves at all without this concealment.

"No, I guess not, but it wouldn't hurt to ask. And if the answer is 'no,' find out how many people can go with him apart from Phlox. Somebody's got to go watch their backs while they're over there."

"That request might in itself constitute a cause of offence."

"I'm sure you can phrase it tactfully. Put it this way, I'm playing them at their own game: dangerous till proven otherwise. My tactical officer and my chief medical officer are vital members of my crew, and I'm not playing pat-a-cake with their safety. Treaty or no treaty."

Lieutenant Reed's mouth quirked into something like a smile. "Aren't you getting a little 'paranoid,' Captain?" he asked.

"Sure sounded like it." Trip found a smile from somewhere too, but his held a measure of trouble as well as relief. He didn't like it, but he wouldn't argue. At least not in front of others.

"Oh, it's not that. I just don't want them thinking otherwise." He produced a grin somehow too, and nodded dismissal. "Malcolm, stay back. I want a word with you."

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