Ride the Lightning (6): No Remorse

by jtm1848

T-minus one day in the Delphic Expanse.

– NO REMORSE –

1801 hours, February 13, 2154

The world slowly faded to light around Hoshi Sato.

She found herself laying facedown on a bare, metallic floor, and slowly pushed herself up, barely aware of the dust and dirt that coated the front of her coveralls. Her head was dazed, her vision foggy; she focused her mind, trying to cut through the haze, and found only scattered remnants of recollection.

She was on the Enterprise; that much she knew. There was a battle—a chaotic battle, she thought. The Xindi—they had been firing on each other, she knew. There was a split in the Xindi ranks, one side coming to the defense of the humans…presumably the primates and arboreals. Degra wouldn't let them down…Hoshi frowned. Degra. Degra's dead.

Dolim killed Degra, she recalled. It had become a declaration of civil war between the Xindi species; the primates and arboreals on one side, the reptilians and insectoids on the other, and the aquatics…had yet to make up their mind. But…the weapon. That was the missing piece of the puzzle. The reptilians commandeered the weapon. That's what the battle was about.

If she wasn't on board the Enterprise—a safe bet, Hoshi figured—then logically, it was most likely that she was on a reptilian vessel. Did they destroy the Enterprise? Did they abduct our entire crew? If so, where is everyone else? Hoshi was clearly alone in her cell.

She pushed herself up to her knees, and took in her surroundings. The cell was conspicuously well-lit; it wasn't large, maybe nine or ten meters square, but that was unsurprising. What did surprise her was the lack of incarcerating adornments; no bunks, no refuse facilities, no transparent doorway…it looked more like a glorified storage closet than a prison chamber.

At the center of the room—the only item in the room—stood an intricate chair, easily identifiable by the loose straps positioned in strategic locations. It was for holding down a prisoner, and through the fuzziness, Hoshi was able to recognize the chair instantly. It was for interrogation. That answered one question, at least: she wasn't in a cell, per se; she was in an interrogation chamber.

But what did they want with her? Had they seized the rest of the crew? Were there dozens of other chambers like this, each one holding a human being? Or had they singled her out? The last possibility took a leap of logic—Hoshi knew that she was not a key part of the Enterprise's tactical plans. She was a communications officer, that was all; she could tell them little about battle techniques, or engineering specifications, and even less about Earth's planet-based defensive systems.

The doors to the chamber clanged open harshly, causing Hoshi to instinctively pull herself upwards, trying to attain as dignified a posture as possible. She recognized Commander Dolim at the forefront; on each side, and a step behind, was a reptilian lieutenant. One scowled at her mercilessly, while the other gazed down with dispassion.

"Why am I here?" Hoshi sputtered out, her voice uncertain. "What do you want?"

Dolim stepped across the chamber, and knelt down in front of Hoshi. "If I told you what I want, would you give it to me?" he asked, his voice hissing vehemently. With one clawed hand, he took Hoshi by the chin. "Or would I have to take it from you?"

Hoshi shuddered at the touch, but refused to pull away. "If you want my recipe for rice cakes, you'll have to use force," she retorted, her tone strengthening up.

"Indeed." Dolim dropped Hoshi's chin and stood up. He towered high above the human officer. "You weren't picked at random, human. We're in need of your linguistic abilities."

Hoshi stared at the reptile balefully. "You'll have to find someone else."

Dolim smiled down at her. "But there is no one else—at least, no one as skilled as you. You mastered aquatic. That's almost impossible, for anyone not of their species. I've heard it spoken my entire life, and I still only recognize a few words."

"Maybe you should have applied yourself more," Hoshi retorted. Taking a half-step back, she felt the comforting firmness of the wall behind her.

"Perhaps," Dolim replied. He matched her with a half-step of his own. "But for now, you'll have to do." His pointed tongue slithered out between his scaly lips.

"What is it you want me to do?" Hoshi repeated, her resolve starting to firm up. The reptilians needed her; that was good news, for the mission, at least. Probably not good news for her…

"We have some encoded data we need translated," Dolim informed her.

Hoshi could feel the reptile's stale breath wash over her face. "You took the wrong person, then," she shot back. "I'm not a cryptologist."

Dolim smiled malevolently. "You should have more confidence in your abilities," he hissed. "I have confidence in you."

"That's very flattering," Hoshi replied firmly, "but you'll have to manage. On. Your. Own!"

"Such a strong will, for such a helpless creature," Dolim hissed softly. He raised his hand to her face, caressing the smooth skin with his scaly appendage. "You will be easy to break."

Hoshi spat in Dolim's face, causing the reptile to jolt away. I won't give them what they want, she thought with steel determination. I won't be easy to break. I won't. I won't. I won't.

"Get her ready for the procedure," Dolim growled.

With no more room to back away, Hoshi prepared to fight.

One of the subordinate reptilians stepped forward, moving far quicker than Hoshi could anticipate, and grabbed the human by both wrists. She fought back, twisting and turning her body in an effort to break free; but the reptile's claws encircled her wrists like iron manacles, and he did not flinch as she sought to break the clasp.

With nary a thought, the officer dragged Hoshi across the room, and shoved her down into the interrogation chair. She continued to fight, to squirm, to struggle. It was a futile battle; the guard considerably out-powered her, but she refused to go easily, and finally, the second guard stepped up to help fix the restraining straps across her.

"She's surprisingly strong-willed," one of the guards noted scornfully. "For a primate."

"She is also foolish," Dolim hissed. "Wasting her energy now, instead of saving it. We'll see how long she lasts in the hands of our inquisitors. It'll only be a matter of time before she gives us those launch codes."

…

Captain's Log, February 13, 2154. Commander Dolim has successfully absconded with the weapon. Our Xindi allies promise that, with a little time, they'll be able to track the destination of the subspace corridor used by the reptilians, but time is at a premium—with each passing hour, it becomes less and less likely that the weapon will still be at those coordinates. Dolim isn't a fool, after all.

The Enterprisehas sustained battle damage—again—and our crew is working nonstop to repair key systems—again. At least the damage wasn't as severe this time.

The only good news about this lull, Trip Tucker thought, is that it gives us time to recover the shuttlepod. Shuttlepod One had been forced to hide in the outskirts of the Delphi Iota system during the aborted battle, and the engineer was looking forward to the return of half the senior staff—and whatever information they bring with them. It has nothing to do with T'Pol, he told himself. I'd be this anxious for any crewmember.

Tucker was through the launch bay doors the moment the bay repressurized, with Major Hayes following closely behind. The pod looked no worse for the wear; it was, in fact, in far better condition than the Enterpriseherself, and it took an experienced eye to note where the shiny finish of the pod's hull was worn dull by the sandpaper-like effect of space dust and debris.

In eager anticipation, Trip reached out to trigger the hatchway open, but had to step back. The door was already swinging upward, and true to Vulcan fashion, the first thing out was not a crewmember; it as the stolen memory core from the Sphere, cupped at the end of T'Pol's extended arm. In brute Vulcan logic, after all, the memory core was more important than any of the individual officers in the pod.

T'Pol handed the core over to Tucker has she arched her slim legs over the raised bottom of the hatch. "We need to access the data from this," she told Trip primly. "Meet me in the command center in half an hour. I'll assist you after I update the captain."

Nice to see you too, Trip thought flippantly, but the urgency of the moment suppressed even his open demeanor. He let T'Pol slip into the lead position as they quickly departed the launch bay, with Travis pulling up behind.

"What have we missed?" Mayweather asked, noticing Tucker's unusual curtness.

"The reptilians took the weapon," Trip answered grimly. The trio stepped into the corridor. "The reptilians and insectoids turned on the other Xindi."

"Have they launched it?"

"We don't know," Tucker answered. "Depac thinks they haven't, not yet. Evidently, they still need to crack some command codes—Depac thinks that they'll hide the weapon somewhere in the Expanse until they figure it out. The captain's meeting with Depac and Jannar to figure out our next move."

T'Pol mentally adjusted her immediate schedule. She would have to report in later, when the captain returned; this freed her up to attend to the memory core without delay.

"That's not the worst of it," Trip added dourly. Drawing a deep breath, he came to a stop. "They took Hoshi."

"Who was it?" Travis asked, his veneer growing harsh.

"We don't know," Trip answered. "Reptilians, insectoids, take your pick. They transported her off the bridge before they vamoosed." T'Pol stumbled momentarily at the colloquialism.

Lieutenant Reed was the last to emerge from the shuttlepod, stepping out through the hatchway as the launch bay doors slid shut. His emergence caused Major Hayes to peer inside the shuttle expectantly, and a moment later, his visage dropped.

"Where's Corporal Hawkins?" Hayes asked guardedly, suspecting that he knew the answer. Hawkins hadn't accompanied the team for his scientific ability; he had gone as a bodyguard, pure and simple.

"The Sphere had an automated defense mechanism," Reed answered gently. "He didn't make it."

Hayes closed his eyes softly and brought his palms up to his mouth, forming a steeple with his fingers. He had lost people before; it was never easy, even in a service that unofficially ascribed to the motto, ours is but to do and die. But Hawkins' life—like the rest of the MACOs—was expendable, when weighed against the imperative of their mission. Everything was expendable, compared to their duty. The lives, the deaths, the sacrifices being made, all paled next to that imperative.

"Of course, Lieutenant," Hayes replied, banishing the hitch from his throat. "It was his duty." He only allowed a single note of sentiment. "I'd appreciate a full report. I'd like to know…"

A few weeks previously, Malcolm would not have understood the hidden pain in the major's voice; after all, the needs of the mission outweighed the needs of the individual. But now he understood that the arithmetic was not nearly that simple. "As soon as I can," Malcolm agreed.

…

When Archer had first descended to the Council planet, he had found the vista pleasing and scenic; the towering rock spires, the great, plummeting valleys, the floating banks of clouds that offered tantalizing glimpses of the great beyond. But now, all he saw was the hellish fire of the orange-tinged atmosphere, causing the planet's surface to glow like a malevolent Erebus.

"Where are they?" Archer demanded angrily, pushing the great doors aside violently. He exploded into the Council Chamber as a man possessed. "Where did they go?"

Depac and Jannar looked up at the sudden entrance. "We don't know," Depac answered. He bristled beneath the weight of Archer's aggressive stance. "It's difficult to track the destination of a vortex."

"So for all you know, they could be heading to Earth!" Archer snarled, drawing face-to-face with the Xindi primate.

"It is unlikely," Jannar said calmly, attempting to intervene. He was successful; Archer's eyes darted away from Depac and fixed on Jannar. "They can't arm the weapon, and it would be foolish of them to deploy it in orbit of Earth as an unarmed target."

"It is far more likely that they're hiding out somewhere, attempting to break into the central computer," Depac added, discretely slipping out from beneath Archer's maddened aura.

"How can you be so sure?" Archer asked skeptically, eyeing the arboreal closely.

Jannar exchanged a pointed look with Depac, who nodded slightly; they would reveal one of the weapon's technological secrets to this human—their new, albeit tentative, ally. "Each of the five species has a set of command codes to initiate the arming sequence." Jannar drew a strong breath. "All five are needed to activate the weapon."

"And we obviously don't intend to give them ours," Depac added, glaring angrily at the belligerent human.

"Nor do we," Jannar answered simply.

Archer stepped back, mollified. He realized with chagrin that his burst of anger had been misplaced. "What about the aquatics?" he asked. "Will they give Dolim their initiation code?"

Depac folded his arms across his chest. "Their decisions aren't easy to predict," he allowed, "but they're also extraordinarily reluctant to take sides."

"It's more likely that the reptilians and insectoids will attempt to bypass the command codes instead," Jannar clarified. "And that will take time—neither of their species is known for computer expertise."

"Damnit," Archer said softly as the words sank in. The charge of adrenaline vanished, leaving the captain feeling weary. "They abducted my communications officer. I didn't understand why they chose her, of all people."

Depac tightened up. "She's the one that was translating at the meetings?" he asked in alarm. "The one who understood aquatic?"

"They'll use her to decrypt the arming sequences," Jannar noted with unusual terseness.

"She's good at her job," Archer commented. "If they break her—"

"They will, Captain," Depac interrupted. "And quickly. Dolim may not understand computers, but he understands coercion. We don't have the luxury of time."

"There must be something we can do," Archer thought aloud, trying to form an idea from his tired mind. "Some why of finding that damned weapon…"

"We've already alerted every ship in our two fleets," Jannar replied. "But they can't contribute much to the search—the reptilian and insectoid vessels are harassing them all across Xindi space. And they've been taking a toll on us."

"Captain," Depac interposed, "we'll figure it out. It's just a matter of time."

…

The memory core sat on a desk in the middle of the Enterprise's command center, nearly invisible underneath a maze of wiring and circuitry. Every potential access point was wired, wired a second time, and wired a third time, connecting the device to the diagnostics software in the ship's computer. The encryption in the memory core is good, Trip noted in quiet disgust. But I bet it's never reckoned with a Vulcan.

The Vulcan in question stood at a wall-mounted display, scrolling over thousands of lines of code. "This could be a command subroutine," she noted, highlighting a particular section of code.

"And it could be a letter to Santa Claus," Trip retorted, frustrated. He had to remind himself to slow down, to tackle the problem systematically. Giving in to haste would only make the task longer.

"That seems unlikely," T'Pol replied archly. "We have seen no evidence that the Sphere Builders engage in such frivolous fairy tales."

Trip glared at the science officer. "Santa Claus isn't a fairy tale! At least, that's what I told my…" he let his voice trail off. That's what I told my sister, he thought. Elizabeth had believed him, too. She always trusted him…Trip shook off the reverie. There will be time for sentiment later, he reminded himself. Right now, I need to focus on our mission. Our mission is everything.

"I wouldn't mind having Hoshi here right now," Trip commented. He tapped the keypad, trying to bring up another diagnostic of the device's circuitry. "It's not enough that this is encoded—it's encoded in a completely alien language."

T'Pol shot an angered look Trip. "We'll have to make do without her." Her usually-steady voice wavered slightly; not enough for most people to notice, but Trip was not most people.

Tucker looked up curiously. "I just hope she's okay," Trip responded. While he recognized T'Pol's fragile emotional state, he was hesitant to comment on it. Over the last couple weeks, things had been…difficult…between the two of them.

"We're here to analyze this data, not speculate on Ensign Sato's fate," T'Pol retorted irately. She felt her nerves twitch under the imagined weight of Trip's scrutiny.

"Are you okay?" Trip asked awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed.

Leaving the wall display, T'Pol approached Tucker and handed him a padd. "I'm fond of Hoshi as well," she said. The words came out through gritted teeth; the words were almost painful. T'Pol had to fight against every iota of training she had ever received to admit even the slightest emotional attachment, but she herself had—in a future form—told herself to trust Trip Tucker.

The moment of vulnerability quickly vanished. "We can't allow Ensign Sato's situation to become a distraction," T'Pol stated, dropping back into a strait-laced mien, trying to quash the emotional turmoil beneath.

Trip would have said more, but Archer chose that moment to enter. "Any luck?" the captain asked as Trip stood up to greet him.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "In a manner," she replied. "We've been able to access a great deal of data, but it will take time to analyze."

"We have made some progress," Trip added, feeling irrationally protective of the small Vulcan. "We know that the Spheres are connected by a subspace energy grid."

Archer crunched his brow. "What does that do for us?"

Trip shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "It's an energy grid, Cap'n. Just like any other grid—you knock out one port, you might knock out the entire grid."

"The difficulty is that the grid contains redundant backups," T'Pol said.

Archer nodded in understanding. "And how do we do that?" he asked.

Tucker pointed to one of the Spheres. "This one seems to be integral to the grid," he replied. "We've designated in Sphere Forty-One."

"Integral how?" Archer asked, his curiosity coming to the forefront.

T'Pol fielded this one. "I believe it acts as a control Sphere," she answered. "It coordinates the operations of the entire network."

Archer peered closely at the diagram, but it revealed little. "If we can damage it, would it disrupt the entire grid?"

"Maybe." Trip sighed. "Or it might have no effect. Or it might cause a power surge that intensifies the effects. We just don't have enough information yet."

"Keep at it," Archer ordered. "This may give us the leverage we need to pick up the aquatics."

…

Hoshi's head sagged forward against the restraints. Her body screamed in wired exhaustion; her nerve clusters released their rigid grips out of sheer weariness, and the physiological collapse brought a new wave of pain sweeping through her body from head to toe, from one over-stimulated nerve to another. She had lost any semblance of voluntary control over her movements: she moved in static fashion, like a string marionette being manipulated by a rank amateur. She could not think; she could no longer process her surroundings. Her eyes were closed, the world was dark, restricted to the pea-soup world of her abused mind.

Commander Dolim growled at her; it was an indistinct sound that echoed across the eons, covered with sound and fury, but crashing meaninglessly against the shattered rock shores of Hoshi's awareness. "Cooperate and this won't be necessary," he seemed to be saying, but the words were a pointless jumble: cooperate with what? What won't be necessary? It felt unreal. Is this a dream? Or is this a memory? It wasn't real—it couldn't be real.

Trickles of stank reptile breath intruded into Hoshi's nostrils, assaulting her olfactory senses in a futile endeavor to snap her mutilated brain back to a notion of reality. "You leave us no choice," Dolim hissed. The words were a faint sound, less substantive than a whispered voice across a crowded room. "But we will get the information we seek."

I can't control my shakes. How the hell did I get here? Where is here? The remnants of Hoshi's tattered consciousness drew in ever tighter, forming a protective shell around her mind. Inside my shell. Inside my shell, she repeated, struggling to form a coherent thought amidst the swirling miasma of her fractured cognizance. It is safe inside my shell.

"We are injecting you with a breed of parasites that are attracted to the primate neo-cortex," Dolim rumbled. The words remained far away, a distant hint of tantalizing intrigue, inconsequential within the protected shell of Hoshi Sato. "The parasites will invade your brain and reconfigure your neural pathways."

Now Hoshi jolted upright in alarm, the threatening words permeating her sliced consciousness and activating her abused nerve receptors once more. No! She thought in panic. No! It's safe inside my shell! Nothing can get me inside my shell! Inside my shell! Inside my shell! She struggled futilely against the restraints, rocking back and forth violently in a frantic endeavor to break free of the powerful straps.

"The parasites will not harm your memory," the reptile continued. Hoshi could sense the forked tongue darting out at her, caressing her face with its pointed tip, dirtying her with its evil vehemence. "But it will lower your inhibitions. It will make you much more compliant." No! Hoshi thought again, and she whipped her body as tightly as possible, trying to break free from the firm grip of the interrogation chair.

The reptile's breath seemed to soak into every one of Hoshi's facial pores. "Understand this, primate," he hissed softly. "I want to thank you for helping us destroy your world."

Out of options, out of room, nearly out of fight, Hoshi did the only thing she could think of: she spat in Dolim's face.

The reptilian backed away slowly, giving no hint of noticing the projectile. He gestured to a colleague standing behind Hoshi, and she felt the cold barrel of an injector assembly press against her right temple.

Then Hoshi's mind exploded.

…

"If they'd stayed in the vortex, we wouldn't have found them," Jannar commented, pacing around the central console of the Enterprise's situation alcove. It was an understatement: Xindi scientists had no means of tracking the route of their subspace tunnels, so if the destination had been sectors away…it was like searching for a needle in interstellar space.

"However, they stopped less than four light years from here," Depac added. That was their saving grace: systematic sensor sweeps of nearby space had detected the weapon's energy signature in the stellar neighborhood. "One of our patrols is keeping an eye on them."

"Why did they stop?" Malcolm asked in a hybrid of curiosity and concern. "They could have been halfway to Earth by now."

Depac pointed to the sensor scans. "They're attempting to arm the weapon first."

Archer nodded in agreement. "It makes sense…why leave the weapon exposed in Earth's orbit while they're arming it?"

"But they're leaving it exposed to an attack from this end," Malcolm countered. "How quickly can we get there?"

"That wouldn't be wise," Jannar answered with unusual alacrity. "It's not a question of speed, Lieutenant; it's a question of firepower. The reptilians and insectoids have gathered a small fleet around the weapon."

Malcolm creased his brow. "The readings indicate roughly a dozen vessels in the vicinity of the weapon," he said, indicating the sensor scans. "You have nearly as many ships within range. It might be a matched battle, but isn't it worth taking a shot?"

"It's not that simple." Depac frowned. "You may have noticed that the reptilians and insectoids are…more belligerent than we are. They've long been considered the defensive branch of the Xindi, and their ships are armed accordingly. My own people, and the arboreals…we are far more inquisitive in nature. Our ships are loaded with scientific sensors, not weapons."

"We're no match for them," Jannar confirmed. He folded his brawny arms across the chest; it was a favored gesture that he had learned from these humans. "A dozen of our ships, a dozen of theirs…we wouldn't even stand a chance."

"So you're not even going to try?" Malcolm asked, alarmed by what he was hearing. He turned to Archer. "We've been outgunned before, sir. And we didn't come all this way to give up without a fight. We have to stop this weapon—nothing else matters."

Archer murmured under his breath for a moment. Malcolm wasn't sure, but he thought he heard something about attacking windmills.

"But what would you do?" Depac asked angrily. He pounded a fist on the console. "I'm telling you, Captain: it would be a fool's mission to charge in there! Dolim's fleet would destroy anything that attacked them! I'm not going to authorize my ships to commit suicide!"

Pretending to study the wall monitor, Archer turned his back to the argument. He knew there was an answer, somewhere; a way forward, peeking out at him from the mists of his mind…Where there's a will, there's a way, he told himself, and repeated the mantra. There's a way…if the Enterprisecouldn't do it…the primates couldn't…the arboreals couldn't…that meant…

"The aquatics," Archer said suddenly, pivoting back to face the others. "What about the aquatics? Can they match the firepower?"

Depac frowned. "Their ships are powerful, powerful enough to rival the reptilians and insectoids. But are you forgetting? They've already rejected your request, Captain. Your evidence what not enough to convince them."

Archer leaned forward the console, his eyes blazing to life. He knew he had a solution, and the captain was not going to let it slip from his grasp. "But the circumstances have changed, Councilor!" he replied furiously. "That was before the reptilians murdered Degra! Before they stole the weapon! Before the Council broke apart, and civil war opened! Are you so sure that they'll continue to sit back and do nothing?"

"Yes, Captain," Jannar answered firmly. "That is their way."

Archer pounded a fist on the console. "But it's not my way, damnit! I'm not giving up on this without taking another try at it! Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent!"

Taken aback by the sudden fury, Depac glanced at Jannar. "We may be able to secure another audience with them," Depac allowed. "But if we don't make a strong case, we'll lose any chance of the aquatics cooperating later."

Jannar shook his head in amazement. These humans just don't know when to give in, he thought to himself.

Archer let a gleam emerge in his eyes. "Let me talk to them," he said assuredly. "I can do it."

…

Archer watched the aquatic ship grow outside the portal of Degra's vessel. The captain had been on an aquatic ship before: when he was returned to the Enterprise from captivity at Azati. But he had been confined to a single room that time, and unconscious for nearly the entire trip; and the Enterprise's sensors, damaged by the battle, had not recorded an image of the Xindi craft.

His first reaction was one of surprise, followed closely by a sense of clarity. Of course, he thought to himself; the vessel looks different, but in truth, this is how it should look. The aquatic ship, shaped vaguely like an old plesiosaur, had the softest lines that Archer had ever seen in space: but they would have looked right at home in the murky depths of an ocean. The aquatic vessel would have been a natural deep in the realm of Neptune, right down to its soft, blue-gray coloring. He could almost imagine the hull rippling gently in the subdued lighting of a watery netherworld.

And it was big. The ship was—Archer squinted—several times the length of the Enterprise, and easily dwarfed even the larger reptilian battle cruisers.

"Now is not the time to dissolve what's left of the Council!" Depac stated firmly. Archer turned his attention back to the conversation taking place between the primate, Jannar, and Kiaphet. The aquatic replied with an inarticulate sonar screech. "So we should leave our fate in the hands of the reptilians and the insectoids?" Depac demanded, growing visibly angry. "They've already demonstrated that they can't be trusted!"

Kiaphet squawked again. "I disagree!" Depac responded. "The evidence the humans provided can't be ignored! Not after Dolim killed Degra!"

With another blast of sonar squeal, Kiaphet severed the comm channel.

Archer stepped up behind Depac's ear. "I didn't quite catch that last part," he said, sotto voce. He dreaded the answer.

"They've agreed to meet with us," Depac answered. Archer drew a breath of relief. "But you better have something good, Captain. They're ready to make a decision, and you're not winning."

…

It looks familiar, Archer thought, ransacking his brain for the memory crumbs from his previous sojourn aboard an aquatic vessel. By which I mean, nothing looks familiar.

It was jarring for the human captain. During Earth's tentative ninety-one years of faster-than-light flight, only a relative handful of alien races had been encountered, and those were all more-or-less humanoid: two arms, two legs, bipedal, a torso and a head; land-dwelling, oxygen-breathing, warm-blooded beings. There were plenty of rumors of more exotic aliens, and plenty of stories trickled back from Earth's cargo haulers, but they remained just that: rumors and stories of chance encounters, unsubstantiated by hard record and analysis.

It wasn't until the Enterpriseencountered the five Xindi races that Earthmen could even confirm the existence of sentient, non-humanoid life. Reptile, insects, birds, and…are the aquatics closer to whales or fish? Archer wondered in passing. Fringe scientists back home claimed that Earth's whales and dolphins were actually sentient, so the captain's first guess was cetacean. Or maybe amphibian, he reflected.

The designs of humanoid spaceships contained certain similarities, regardless of the species, perhaps reflecting the similarities in humanoid biology, or in the structure of the brain…thus, the bizarre, warped aesthetics of the insectoid vessels, while fundamentally different, made sense: it reflected the compound vision of an insect's eyes. Similarly, the aquatic vessel bore fundamental differences from a humanoid ship, but those differences contained a certain coherency that undoubtedly shed light on the creatures that built it.

Archer, Depac, and Jannar stood waiting in an oxygen chamber, designed specifically to allow air-breathers entrance to the watery vessel. The chamber was nearly barren, save for an ovoid window that permitted the guests a view of the ship's interior. Unlike the corridor-and-room design of a humanoid craft, Archer noted that the vessel seemed to be vast and open; it reminded him faintly of looking into a fish tank from below, except that this water was green and murky.

"How long do they plan to keep us waiting?" Archer asked. His impatience was getting the best of him. He tried to avoid thinking about the minutes ticking away, but it was hard; no one knew how long it would take Dolim to break the weapon's access codes, and minutes could be crucial.

"You have to deal with the aquatics on their own terms," Depac replied, unperturbed. "They dislike haste. It'll only scare them off."

"They're extremely deliberate in everything they do," Jannar added. He twitched uncomfortably. "If you try to rush them, they proceed even more slowly."

Archer couldn't help but notice the arboreal's discomfort. "You all right?" he asked, concerned.

"My species doesn't like the water," Jannar answered. "Too many predators. We prefer the trees."

"They're here," Depac interrupted as two aquatics appeared before the viewport.

"Thank you for seeing me," Archer said politely. He thought he recognized one aquatic as Kiaphet, but it was hard to tell in the wavy water. "I'm afraid my linguistics officer was abducted by the reptilians."

*That is regrettable.* A feminine, monotone voice emerged from the chamber's speakers. *However, we can proceed without her. We have had time to study your language and add it to our own translator banks.*

Archer paused to glance at Depac before continuing. "I understand that your people dislike haste," he began. "But there is a human custom that I'd like to follow. I'd like to get right to the point."

An indignant squawk emerged, but the voice was agreeable. *You may proceed.*

Archer took a depth breath. "We need your help."

This time, the monotone voice was deeply masculine. *We have made our position clear, Captain Jonathan Archer. The evidence is intriguing, but insufficient to justify severing our bond with the Guardians.*

Archer looked at the aquatics firmly. "I have additional information that I'd like you to consider."

*We will do so,* the first aquatic agreed.

*It will require time,* added the second.

Archer subdued a growl. "We may not have much time," he replied. "We must take action, before my world gets torn to rubble."

*The reptilians and the insectoids cannot deploy the weapon without our access codes,* the feminine voice replied. *We have time.*

Behind the captain, Depac cleared his throat. "That may not be entirely true," he interjected. "We have reason to believe that the reptilians can decrypt primate and arboreal codes."

*That still leaves our own codes,* the feminine answered. *Rest assured, we will not release it until our deliberations are complete.*

"I mentioned that the reptilians abducted by linguist," Archer stated. Both aquatics nodded.

"Captain Archer's linguist is incredibly skilled," Jannar said, taking his part. "You have seen how smoothly she translated your own language."

"I believe they took my officer to help them decipher your code," Archer said.

"The probability is far too large to ignore," Depac added. "You must recognize that we are working on Dolim's timetable, not your own."

An untranslated screech came from the water.

Archer stepped forward until he was centimeters away from the transparent barrier. "After all your deliberations, you may find that your voice no longer matters."

*This changes nothing,* the masculine answered.

"How can you say that?" Depac's voice rose in astonishment. "The Xindi races are already descending into civil war! My crews are out there, fighting for their lives, but they stand little chance! Dolim is trying to launch a coup, and you're going to sit back while he does it?"

*Just because the reptilians choose to act rashly does not mean we will do the same,* the feminine said.

"Don't you realize the stakes here?" Archer barked out. "Do you think Dolim will be satisfied until he has turned on you as well? And what happens afterwards? If Dolim succeeds in destroying Earth, it will condemn all five Xindi species to extinction!"

Kiaphet's neck membranes fluctuated angrily. *You may return to your ship. You will be informed of our decision.*

Let's go for broke, Archer thought angrily, cognizant of the stakes riding on his next words. Without the aquatics, they stood little chance of stopping the weapon. "One last question, Councilor!" he demanded.

Both aquatics glared at Archer, but he continued speaking. "Have your Guardians told you where you'll establish your new homeworld? The one they claim humans are destined to destroy? Is it here, in the Expanse?" Archer gestured broadly about them. "In case you hadn't noticed, the Spheres are turning it into a transdimensional wasteland! When they finish, you won't be able to survive!" The two representatives began to swim away.

The captain leaned forward to push his point home. "The Guardians claim to be protecting you. So why haven't they helped you disable the Spheres?" Startled, Kiaphet and her aide turned back to Archer.

This is it. Archer smiled grimly. "Because we've found a way."

…

The weapon hung in space, protected by a fleet of reptilian warships and smaller insectoid fighters, its menacing visage concealing the deadly core of energy that coursed within it. The massive power conduit bisected the interior of the weapon, sheathing the pounding flow in layers of blackened alloys and transparent panels that glowed a harsh, pale green. Darting through the rest of the structure was a bewildering array of platforms and catwalks, each lined with bright, white lights that disappeared beneath the demonic luminosity of the energy core.

"Report!" Commander Dolim snarled angrily as he crossed a catwalk, approaching a seemingly-random platform. It held a solitary computer terminal, behind which sat Hoshi Sato.

"She's penetrated the first layer of encryption," Dolim's lieutenant answered. "Nothing further."

Dolim scowled and altered his gaze down upon the fragile human. "You understand what we want you to do?" he asked, his voice a dissonant mixture of anger and solicitation.

Hoshi looked up at the reptilian, her body swaying gently. Her eyes were unfocused. "I'm to…I'm to bypass the…the aquatic encryptions…" she mumbled softly, her words struggling to form complete thoughts.

With uncanny gentleness, Dolim wrapped his claws around Hoshi's chin and directed her waving eyes to him. "And you understand that we need this done quickly?"

"I'm trying," Hoshi answered. Her eyes darted around, unable to make contact with Dolim. "I'm not familiar…I don't know the…I'm not familiar with these ciphers. I'm…trying."

"Are you?" Dolim growled softly. He let go of her chin, allowing her gaze to wander to the floor. "We need results, human. I have little patience for your pathetic games." As Dolim's face creased into teeth-baring thunder, he grabbed Hoshi by the wrist and roughly yanked her to her feet. "Are you trying?" he snarled. The look was momentary, but enough: for a fraction of a second, Dolim saw the look of fear and recognition flutter through Hoshi's eyes.

She still has her mind, he thought furiously, as he shoved her to the ground. Never mind: we'll give her another treatment, and then another. She WILL give us what we need, and when we're done with her, I will wreck my vengeance upon her fragile warm-blooded body!

"Lieutenant!" Dolim barked harshly. His craggy face cast the green glow into fiendish highlights. "She's more resistant than you imagined. Prepare her for another procedure!"

In the moment of distraction, Hoshi seized her opportunity. Jumping to her feet, she took off, running, down the catwalk. One of the guards cut off her path, and she paused, reviewing her options; and she took off down a branching path, only to be cut off again.

Hoshi looked about wildly, realizing that her escape routes were no good; reptiles stood in every path, preventing her escape from this nightmare, and she realized that she had only one option.

Hoshi clambered over the railing, intent on tossing herself to her death somewhere at the base of the weapon's core.

One of the guards caught up from behind, easily lifting her off the railing. With a firm grip, he dragged Hoshi back to Dolim. Her chance of escape was gone, just like that, and with it went her best option for preventing the deployment of the weapon.

"You would sacrifice yourself to stop us," Dolim noted, a hint of approval evident in his voice. His recessed eyes stared daggers at the diminutive human. "Don't worry. You won't have to live with your guilt for long." The reptilian gestured for the guard to take Hoshi away.

"Commander!" Before Dolim could return to his duties, the alarmed voice of his lieutenant stopped him cold. "She added a layer of encryption! I can't figure it out!"

Dolim grunted softly. It was of little consequence to him; sooner or later, the parasite treatments would break the young ensign, and she would reverse whatever codes she had added. Sooner or later…it needed to be sooner, although, and Dolim made a mental note to order a heavier treatment.

One matter to take care of first, although. "You were ordered to watch her!" he growled fiercely, and he felt intense satisfaction as he plowed a heavy fist into the lieutenant's face. The hardened carapace didn't fracture under the blow, but the second reptile was knocked backwards, landing in an undignified heap. Good, Dolim mused. Next time, I'll kill him.

…

Trip Tucker stared at the diagrams on the monitor, willing them to reassemble into something familiar, something recognizable, something easy to solve. It was of little hope, he knew, but in the depths of his exhaustion, it seemed like the only hope left: the schematics of the Sphere stubbornly defied any effort to simulate destruction, and the captain had already offered the aquatics a solution. It was up to Trip and T'Pol to find one, but nothing seemed to work.

"A deflector pulse might disrupt the subspace links," T'Pol suggested from across the command center.

"It wouldn't generate enough power," Trip replied tiredly. "We already tried it, remember?"

"What if we tied the impulse reactors directly into the deflector array?" T'Pol pressed on tenaciously.

"It would generate enough power," Trip answered. "But we'd rupture every EPS conduit on the ship first. They're not strong enough to withstand that kind of raw energy."

T'Pol tried to ignore the surge of anger building up within her. "The captain told the aquatics we could disable these Spheres!" she snapped.

"And I'm trying not to make a liar out of him," Trip replied, devoid of any expression. His mind was far away, trying to navigate the depths of the Spheres' construction.

"Really," T'Pol retorted.

Trip turned his head in surprise. "What do you mean by that?"

"You've dismissed all of my proposals!" T'Pol shot back, losing her battle against her anger. "You haven't even been willing to consider them!" And this is the man I'm supposed to marry? T'Pol thought, remembering what her future self had told her. This is the man I'm supposed to trust with my feelings?

Good god, Trip thought, shaking his head wearily. He gritted his teeth. "When you come up with an idea that doesn't involve blowing ourselves up, I'll be a little more enthusiastic!"

"Or you might surprise me with an idea of your own!"

"Listen, T'Pol!" Trip's voice sharpened. "Maybe you haven't had time to meditate or something, hell, I don't know, and I don't really care anymore! I've had all that I can stand! Now, I'm going to go work on this in engineering. Call me if you have any more brilliant ideas—that don't involve blowing up the ship!" Frustrated, Trip turned to leave the room.

"Commander!" T'Pol said softly, catching Tucker unprepared. "Trip!" He stopped and turned back to face the Vulcan.

T'Pol looked down, unable to face Tucker in the eye. "Everything that's happened recently…" her voice fell even softer. "It has…complicated my recovery. I have been…slightly emotional."

Trip considered his fellow officer with compassion. "I've noticed," he said wryly.

"I apologize," T'Pol replied. "I was out of line."

"Forget about it." Trip cracked a crooked grin. "It's perfectly human."

It earned him a glare from T'Pol. "I wish I could," she answered. "But it's so…so different." She trembled slightly, wrapping her arms about her torso, and Trip stepped gently towards her. "I don't know how I'm going to do it," she whispered. "How I'm going to regain my control."

"C'mon," Trip said. "You'll find a way. You're strong, T'Pol, you're one of the strongest people I know."

"It's not that simple," T'Pol answered. "When a Vulcan loses their emotional control, it's like…I've lost a part of who I am. It's like I'm less of me, Trip." She shuddered involuntarily with the effort of baring her inner turmoil. "I don't know how I'm going to recover it. Especially on my own." There we go, T'Pol thought. It's all on the table now.

Trip, catching the implication, wrapped his arms firmly around T'Pol. "You know what?" he asked rhetorically, hugging her close. "I don't think we've talked—I mean, really talked—since we both…"

"Landed in sickbay?" T'Pol fleshed out the thought. Their respective stays in sickbay, both due to chemical abuse—T'Pol's chronic, and Trip's acute—had overlapped, but only by a matter of hours. And that had been days ago…it was hard to believe that it was only days ago.

"You know, I miss our sessions," Trip said, referring to the Vulcan neuropressure sessions that he had T'Pol had shared for much of the mission. Very roughly similar to massage treatments, T'Pol had trained Tucker in neuropressure as a means of helping him sleep. In the process, the former sparing partners had become close, sharing parts of themselves that no one else knew. "You know how much I appreciate what you did for me," Trip added softly. "I want you to know, I'm here for you—I don't want you bottling this up, trying to play the tough Vulcan, you here me?"

T'Pol nodded mutely, and the two stood momentarily in silent embrace, until Trip started murmuring a tune.[1] "Maybe you're tired and broken, your tongue is twisted, with words half-spoken and thoughts unclear…" he hummed softly, causing T'Pol to look up in bewilderment. "What do you want me to do, to do for you, to see you through…please don't be surprised, when you find me too…"

"I like that," T'Pol said quietly, and she surrendered her Vulcan hide into the comfort of Trip's embrace.

…

The Guardian flickered in and out of existence before Dolim, its unformed features blurred across the dimensional gap of their respective realms. How curious, the commander mused, regarding the flicker through merciless eyes. Now that he paid attention, it seemed as though the blur had diminished over the years, as if the effort of trans-dimensional contact was getting easier for the Guardians. Simple experience would account for that, he reflected, unpleased. Improvements in their technology. Or my eyes may simply be growing accustomed to it. Try as he might, Dolim couldn't shake the other possibility: our space is becoming more habitable for the Guardians.

"We have disbanded the Council," Dolim growled angrily. "And we have taken control of the weapon."

"Excellent," the Guardian answered, hissing slightly. "Deploy it immediately."

"It's not armed yet," Dolim scowled. "We'll deploy it as soon as we have the aquatics' launch code. We've encountered some…difficulties in securing it." For such a fragile being, that human puts up an inordinate amount of resistance, he thought.

The Guardian's bland features seemed to crease in anger. "The longer you delay, the more likely it is that the time lines will shift against you," the being hissed. "You must act quickly, before the opportunity has passed you by."

Dolim stepped slowly towards the Guardian, regarding it with a suspicious glare. "Then perhaps you can provide more of your…valuable assistance," he suggested, tinting the last two words with deliberate implication. "If you are so interested in seeing the weapon launched."

"What kind of assistance do you require?" the Guardian answered skeptically, tilting its head as Dolim approached. "Are you incapable of completing this task? Perhaps we should be working with another species…the insectoids, maybe."

Dolim snorted with aborted laughter. He knew that the Guardians had little choice in the matter; the insectoids were far too paranoid, and the other species were far too weak. No, he thought, the Guardians need the reptilians. But it will be a partnership of equals. We will not enslave ourselves, like the Council did. "Help us get the last code," Dolim snarled.

The Guardian seemed to shift uneasily. "That's not possible."

"Why not?" Dolim cocked his head. "It should be a simple matter to peer into the past, extract the necessary data. Surely that is not too hard a task for you?"

"We only detect the themes and large flows within the timescape," the Guardian countered. "Overarching patterns and such. Individual details—particularly something that small—are indistinguishable within the greater whole."

"Really?" Dolim snarled, his anger flaring to life. "You've seen more than enough detail to justify meddling in our affairs! You have turned the Xindi species against each other, destroyed the unity we have built over the centuries, and for what?" He trembled with the effort of restraining physical violence. "You tell us that your actions will result in a stronger Xindi Union, but if you can't see the details of time, then how can you claim to see causation? You're just guessing, aren't you?"

"Everything we've done has been to protect the Xindi," the Guardian replied, perturbed.

"Then finish what you've started!" Dolim roared, lunging forward at the vaporous being. With great effort, he pulled himself to a halt, scarce centimeters in front. "You have destroyed Xindi unity, in the name of defending it!"

The Guardian's temporary flutters vanished, and it replied firmly. "The time lines are in constant flux," the being hissed. "Many of them favor the primates and the arboreals. Some even favor the humans." The Guardian paused to allow the words their weight. "Unless that's the outcome you desire, Commander…I suggest you find a way to launch the weapon."

…

"How about some good news?" Captain Archer asked energetically as he entered the Enterprise's command center. The Xindi councilors had returned Archer to his ship scarce minutes earlier, and the command center was his first stop on what promised to be busy schedule.

Trip and T'Pol looked up from the monitors simultaneously. "I take it your conversation with the aquatics was successful?" T'Pol asked, beating Trip to the punch.

"We don't know yet," Archer allowed. He raised a fruit-like orb to his mouth and took a crunchy bite from it. "But they sure seemed interested."

"Hey, that's real food!" Trip said in amazement. His eyes opened wide. "Where'd you get it?"

The captain spoke with a mouth full of exotic apple. "Depac's quartermaster is transferring several crates of foodstuffs to our cargo bays. You gotta try this, Trip, it's delicious!" He swallowed and changed beats. "What have you found on the Spheres?"

T'Pol turned and pointed to a seemingly-obscure joint in the Sphere's central assembly. "This appears to be the intake manifold on Sphere Forty-One," she said, referring to the nearby 'node' Sphere. "It has an inlet regulator that adjusts the levels of interspatial energy added to the network by this Sphere."

"If we can knock out the regulator," Trip added, stealing an envious glance at the alien fruit, "it should destabilize the entire network. This entire thing, Captain, is really just one big power grid." Trip's hands spoke with excitement. "If we unbalance the power entering it, we can overload and destroy the entire thing."

"How do we knock out the regulator?" Archer asked. He took another crunchy bite.

"T'Pol's found a way to disrupt it with an inverse graviton beam," Trip answered. "Any ship with a navigational deflector assembly should be able to do it." By necessity, virtually every space-faring craft had a navigational deflector. "We have to run some calculations for the exact pulse strength, but it shouldn't take much longer."

"Well done," Archer replied. "Let me know when you're finished—I'm hoping the aquatics will be interested in those details."

"Captain," T'Pol interjected, "I hope you didn't make them any promises."

Archer answered with a raised eyebrow.

"We'll keep working," T'Pol replied.

"One last thing," Archer added. "Once the food is unloaded, Chef's promising a late-night feast. If you're done by then, I'd like you two to join me in the captain's mess."

"Keep a steak warm for me, Cap'n," Trip replied with a grin. "Or two."

"Mayweather to Archer." Travis' voice cut in over the intercom. "Sir, please report to the port docking hatch. Councilor Depac has arrived."

…

The Enterprise, while large by Earth spaceship standards, was not that big when compared to ocean-going vessels: the saucer section was only seven decks tall, and one hundred twenty-five meters in diameter; and to simplify things, the command center was the same deck as the docking ports, so the captain had barely eighty meters to walk to reach the hatchway. Nonetheless, by the time he arrived, Depac was already on board and into the corridor.

"Any word yet?" Archer asked, trotting up to meet the Xindi primate.

Depac looked at Archer with surprise. "It's barely been an hour!" The two fell in, side-by-side, and started down the hallway. "The Council once needed to resolve a simple logistical matter," Depac said. "It took the aquatics six days to agree to even attend the meeting! I can't imagine how long it will take them to decide an issue of war and peace."

"I'm surprised you were ever able to get anything done," Archer remarked. Inwardly, he cringed: six days? We don't have six hours! The captain was ready to launch their attack now. They knew where the weapon was, and it wasn't far; but they were held up, waiting for the aquatics to decide whether or not to add firepower to the small, under-armed fleet orbiting the Council planet.

Depac chuckled. "On the contrary, Captain, the aquatics' reluctance has been quite beneficial. Their prudence was usually the only thing that kept the Council from dissolving into chaos. They have provided a necessary balance to the emotionalism and rashness of the other Xindi."

Archer groaned silently. Just what we need: more Vulcans. I should've had T'Pol talk to them.

"That's why Degra had them build the weapon," Depac continued. "He was never comfortable with it, and he figured that the aquatics would prove to be the most judicious in handling it."

"That's actually something I wanted to discuss with you," Archer replied, slightly hesitant. It was difficult territory, and he was exploring it blind. "If we're successful, and we destroy the weapon…"

Depac slowed to a stop. "What's to prevent us from building another one?" Archer nodded mutely. Depac seemed to weigh his thoughts before continuing. "I knew Degra for many years, Captain," he said firmly. "He could be…difficult and uncompromising. We argued often—for instance, when he insisted that we meet with you. But for all our arguments…I never questioned his veracity or his intelligence. Whether or not I agreed with him, I would be a fool to not consider his words carefully."

"Degra was an insightful man," Archer agreed cautiously, uncertain of where Depac's speech was heading.

"Captain, Degra believed that there was a future between your people and mine." The primate turned to look Archer in the eye. "A future of peace and cooperation, not one of warfare and conquest. When this is over, and the weapon is destroyed, I intend to see if he was right."

"I look forward to that, Councilor," Archer responded diplomatically.

Depac's eyes seemed to twinkle. "I know that doesn't answer all of your concerns, Captain, but it's what I have to offer: trust."

"Captain Archer." Mayweather's voice intruded again. "Please report to the bridge."

…

"Report," Archer barked the second the lift doors opened in front of him. He ran a mental tally of the bridge, noting that the secondary crew—Hutchinson at the helm, Rahimi at tactical, and Travis at the conn—was in place, along with Crewmember Sorenson handling Hoshi's duties at communications. Councilor Depac hit the bridge as well, stepping out of the lift behind the captain.

"Six vessels approaching, sir," Travis replied promptly as he vacated the command chair. He spoke hurriedly as he trotted to the science console. "All aquatic."

"That was remarkably fast," Depac added in surprise.

"Open a channel to the lead ship!" Archer ordered, and he stepped in front of the viewscreen. "Greetings, Councilor!"

The image of two aquatic Xindi, floating in the pale green fluid of their habitat, appeared before him. *Greetings, Captain Jonathan Archer.* The masculine voice spoke first. *We have considered your proposal.*

"I don't mean to press, but we're short on time," Archer replied. He successfully held back the acerbic twist as he addressed the aquatics. "Have you come to a decision?" He banished the hesitancy from his voice, but he was profoundly timid regarding the answer: a lot—too much—rested on Kiaphet's next words.

This time, the feminine voice spoke. *We have determined that our interests are best served by openly allying ourselves with Councilors Depac and Jannar. We will help you intercept and destroy the weapon.*

Archer's heart leapt in his chest as he felt his spirit lift. Thank you, he answered mentally, and then remembered to vocalize. "Thank you," he told the aquatics. "If you have any idea how much this means to us…"

*It means the survival of your race,* the masculine voice answered. *And ours as well.*

*We expect you to honor this agreement,* the feminine voice continued.

*We expect your data on disarming the Spheres.*

Archer nodded, his face broken in a warm smile. "We have everything you need to destroy the entire network. I'll have my communications officer start the transfer immediately."

There's hope yet, Archer thought as he issued the appropriate orders.

…

[How does the defection of the aquatics affect the time lines?]

[It's difficult to say. They continue to fluctuate. No one possibility has established a firm likelihood of prevailing.]

[Nonetheless, the probability of the humans successfully destroying the weapon has increased significantly.]

[What of it? We can always try again, if needed.]

[I am concerned about Jannar and Depac. Their affinity for these humans seems to run deep.]

[Even Dolim has started challenging us.]

[The time lines are coming into agreement on one point: whatever happens, our influence over the Xindi will soon vanish. The humans have successfully planted too much doubt in their minds.]

[We must succeed. Now.]

[The time has come for us to take action. We must intervene directly.]

[What do you propose?]

[Let us target the Earth ship with a focused anomaly. Make it habitable for ourselves. And then, we can destroy the Enterprise, once and for all.]

…

The weapon rumbled steadily under Dolim's feet, forming a sycophantic growl with the rumble in his cold-blooded heart. The power to destroy an entire planet and kill an entire civilization coursed beneath him, and it warmed him with its throaty roar. No other Xindi has ever had this kind of power at the tip of his claws, Dolim realized. No other Xindi has ever achieved what I will—bringing our races together in union, under the strong, guiding hand of their reptilian defenders. We may no longer have a homeworld, but together, we will make the stars our home. And perish be those who stand against us. It is…already written in the future, he thought mirthlessly.

"Is there a problem?" Dolim barked at his under-performing lieutenant. The commander had been summoned back to the control platform where the human was working, and rather than ask for details over the comm, Dolim waited until he was within hearing range. His slow-witted subordinate had been grating Dolim's nerves for days, and the commander was not going to pass up the opportunity to berate the imbecile.

"Quite the opposite," the second reptile answered, looking inordinately pleased with himself. He pointed towards the console. "The human has decrypted the aquatics' code."

At last! Dolim thought exultantly. After months—years—of effort, of scheming, of planning and maneuvering, things were falling into place at the last moment. The human ship was close, only light-years away, and the human captain may have successfully turned the other Xindi races, but it was of no consequence. Dolim held the power of the weapon within his grasp, and no one was left in his way. Archer, Depac, Jannar, Kiaphet…they were all behind, on the wrong side of space and the wrong side of history.

"It appears the primate was useful after all," Dolim snarled, more out of habit than intent. He yanked Hoshi from her chair and physically passed her to an aide. "Take her back to her cell," he ordered. "Initiate the pre-arming protocols, and inform me when the weapon is ready to launch."

Dolim knew that his moment of triumph waited. Earth was one subspace-corridor away, and if the rag-tag fleet behind them tried to intervene…they would be left behind.

…

Captain's Log, zero hundred two hours, February 14, 2154. We're battening down the hatches and tying down the mainsails as we prepare to enter a Xindi vortex, thanks to the assistance of the aquatics. If their calculations are right, we'll intercept the weapon in less than two hours. We don't know what will happen when we arrive, but I've reminded the crew that we only have one chance at this, and we must make it an effort worthy of the ages.

The Enterprisehas been through more than her share of battle during this mission, and the pounding the ship has taken has been extraordinary, but she is still holding strong at the seams. It is a testament to her designers, and every worker who inserted even the most minor of self-sealing stem bolts, that she has endured and persisted through every danger thrown at her. She has become the most loyal of friends, never wavering, never faltering, as we charge head-first into war.

After nearly ten months in the Expanse, the crew stands stronger and more unified than I ever imagined possible. Through the thick and the thin, the adversities and the triumphs, they have persisted with a strength of character that highlights the best that humanity has to offer. Whatever happens tomorrow—whatever happens today—whether we fail or succeed, the men and women, humans and aliens, serving this mission deserve every accolade that can be given.

Carpe diem!

Jonathan Archer trod the decks of the starship Enterprise, in the ancient tradition of a captain inspecting his ship on the eve of battle. Every centimeter of the great vessel came before his eye, every conduit, every bulkhead, every console passed before his recognition, and he noted with pride the repair work his crew had done over the preceding weeks, following the calamitous battle at Azati Prime.

Around him, the crew worked hard and alertly, tending to their duties with the precision of professionals. They nodded in acknowledgement as the captain passed, and returned to their duties, needing no words of order or encouragement. There was a grim recognition of the task ahead, but no panic, nor any sense of fright, intruded upon these people.

In engineering, Commander Charles Emerson Tucker III ran the final diagnostics on the Enterprise's primary systems, searching for any hole, any weakness, that could betray them at a crucial moment. The warp core—the heart of any starship—thrummed a powerful beat, the matter/anti-matter intake balanced to razor-thin exactness, the manifolds and exhaust conduits strengthened and re-strengthened with sheets of tritanium. Someone had even polished the railings of the core's scaffolding.

Battle preparations continued apace. Emergency power shunts were installed across every deck; every nonessential system was powered down and taken off the EPS grids, to prevent any fire-sparking power surges. The remaining power taps were fortified with additional insulation, and cover panels were jarred loose to provide rapid access to the critical circuitry behind. Precision-cut sections of the massive duranium beams salvaged from prior battle criss-crossed corridors and rooms, welded into place to provide additional structural integrity in the weakened sections of the vessel.

In the weapons bay, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed had gathered the tactical specialists for final systems checks and verifications. Every photonic torpedo was inspected for faulty wiring, a flawed control chip, anything that may result in a less-than-maximum effect: there would be no premature detonations, guidance errors, or failed implosions on Malcolm's watch. Even deep inside the torpedo tubes, his crew was at work, inspecting the sleek walls for any deformity, any debris, that could cause a hitch in the launch protocols.

Simultaneously, across the corridor in the armory, the Military Assault Command Operations (MACO) contingent, under the direction of Major Jeremiah Hayes, checked and rechecked every hand weapon. The phase pistols and rifles were test-fired, cleaned, and fired again, according to the exacting standards learned from battles past. Be ready, Hayes thought grimly. Always be ready. Weapons lockers were opened across the ship, and stashes were discreetly stowed on every deck, in anticipation of any potential boarding party.

Archer's final check—by subconscious design—was sickbay, where Dr. Phlox was preparing his medics for remote medicine and triage. He would preposition his staff in the primary sections of the ship, so that response time in the heat of battle would be cut to nothing, and anyone who could be patched up could immediately return to duty. There would be no cautious medical care, nor any heroic dashes to and from sickbay: when the lives of the crew became a luxury, the goal of medicine was to prioritize short-term performance, not long-term survival. Phlox didn't like it, but nor could he argue: he understood the stakes.

Archer took strength from the doctor's steadfastness. He and Phlox exchanged a muted look, reassuring each other that they would stand ready, and that the sacrifices ahead were worth it. Archer noted that the Denobulan physician was arming his medics with two main types of medicines: one, a powerful pain suppressant; the second, a powerful sedative that would ease the mortally wounded in the remaining moments of their lives.

At last, everything was ready, and the crew found themselves standing in subdued anticipation, waiting as they transversed the length of the subspace corridor.

…

Like the rest of the ship, the lighting in the armory was subdued to conserve supplies and resources. The primary overhead lighting was turned off as the whole of the Enterprise stood in standby mode, but the secondary lighting, running the rim of the room, provided a soft glow of bluish-white accents to the activity within. Malcolm noted in admiration that the reduced lighting did nothing to subdue the work of the MACOs.

"Major!" Malcolm called out across the armory, spotting his counterpart working at a console. Reed stepped briskly across the room. "Have you assembled your boarding party?"

"Ready to deploy on your command," Hayes affirmed. Both officers knew it was a long shot, but if the battle offered an opportunity to plant a boarding party on Dolim's ship, they would do so, in the hopes of retrieving Ensign Sato.

"I wish I was leading it myself," Malcolm added, a little melancholically.

"Your place is on the bridge, sir," Hayes answered tersely. The bulk of his attention was focused on the monitor in front of him. One of the phase pistols had shown a slight variance in its particle stream—still within margins, but the major was determined to track it down. "To each according to the crew's need, Lieutenant. I can replace you on the boarding party, but no one can replace you at the tactical station."

"Of course, Major." Malcolm acknowledged the comment obliquely. "It's just that Ensign Sato is a close friend. It just doesn't feel right, leaving it to others."

"I understand, sir," Hayes answered. "But if I may, sir?" He received the requested approval. "I feel the same way about my team—but I've placed my people under your command on more than one occasion."

The comment troubled Malcolm. "We don't have a problem, do we, Major?"

Hayes finally turned his attention to Malcolm. "What do you mean, sir?"

"Do you blame me for Corporal Hawkins' death?" Wanting to clear the air, Reed pressed the point directly.

Hayes let out a deep breath. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" Malcolm nodded. "You know it's not easy, putting your people under someone else's command. You're more than qualified, and I know that, but they're still my people. I can't help but wonder… if I was there, would things have turned out differently?"

"I did everything I could," Malcolm replied, bristling.

"I know, sir, and to answer your question. No, I don't blame you." Hayes glanced down before continuing. "I blame myself, for not being there. Hawkins was part of my team, my responsibility, and I wasn't there for him."

"That's not fair, Major," Malcolm retorted. "Hawkins may well have been a MACO, but on that mission, he was my responsibility."

Hayes accepted the faint reprimand in silence before continuing. "When we first came aboard the Enterprise, we definitely felt like outsiders," he mused softly.

"If I contributed to that in any way—"

"No, sir." Hayes cut him off. "My point is, none of us feel that way anymore. Here you and I are, talking about 'my people' and 'your people,' but…we're all a part of the same crew, no matter which uniform we wear."

The major smiled fondly. "Did you know that Private Lederer has a soft spot for Hoshi? He wants to get to know her better, when we return…Ensign Sato is my responsibility, Lieutenant, just as Hawkins was your responsibility. So don't worry about her. We'll bring her home."

…

"So where did Chef learn to cook like this, anyway?" Trip asked with a mouth full of fresh food. To help ease the tension during the trip through the corridor, Archer had allowed Chef to go ahead with a midnight feast. T'Pol joined the two men in the captain's mess, and the three of them were enjoying the best meal in months.

Of course, their fourth companion was whining eagerly, hoping to get a single bite of the delectable food that covered the table. Giving in, Archer handed Porthos a large bite of meat, and scratched the pup behind the ears. "Buenos Aires, I think," the captain said, answering Trip's question. "Before he joined Starfleet, he worked in a family restaurant. He once told me that his parents refused to have the same menu two weeks in a row, so he learned how to get innovative with his cooking."

"Let's thank his parents, then," Trip replied, smiling broadly.

"How about Admiral Forrest?" Archer retorted lightly. "I had to steal Chef from Starfleet Command."

Tucker sliced off another chunk of meat. "I'd almost forgotten what Chef can do with a steak," he reflected, putting the morsel in his mouth. "What kind of meat is this, anyway?"

"Councilor Depac's quartermaster indicated that it is something akin to a Terran hippopotamus," T'Pol answered primly. Her plate was covered with fresh fruits and tubers, rather than the mutilated flesh of slaughtered animals. Needless to say, Porthos was not begging for her table scraps.

"Huh," Trip said meaningfully. "Tastes more like ostrich. You ever had ostrich, Captain?"

Archer shook his head. "Can't say I have, Trip."

"When we get back to Earth, you'll have to try it," the engineer continued. "Speaking of Earth, I told the engineering team that I'd buy them a few rounds at the 602 Club. You're both invited."

"I wouldn't miss it," Archer replied, grinning. "What about you, T'Pol?"

The captain caught T'Pol taking a drink of water. "The commander may buy me a drink," she said, setting down her cup. "If he insists."

Trip let out a strong laugh. "Oh, I insist, all right. But I think the captain wanted to know what your plans are for the future?"

"That's right," Archer said. "It's been a long time since you've been to Vulcan. You know, you've never told us if you have family back home."

"There are some colleagues on Vulcan that I have not see for some time," T'Pol demurred.

"The Vulcan High Command would be lucky to get you back," Trip added. "Did I tell you how good this steak is?"

"I fail to see your joy in eating another animal," T'Pol replied. There was a faint sparkle in her eye; enough to encourage Tucker to continue.

"You ever eat squirrel?"

Archer spat out a mouthful of iced tea.

"I've considered formalizing my service with Starfleet," T'Pol said in a note of seriousness. Admittedly, it was a radical notion; the Vulcan High Command looked down on Starfleet as being…a bunch of amateurs, bungling their way from one improbable success to another.

"Starfleet or the Enterprise?" Trip asked softly. T'Pol demurred to answer, but Trip suspected he knew: with her recent emotional problems, T'Pol did not want to face the presence of other Vulcans. It was good and bad: she had grafted onto the Enterprisecrew as new family, but she was also using them as a security blanket.

"I may be able to pull some strings," Archer offered, smiling. "Get you out of basic training. You might even be able to start as a lieutenant."

"Junior grade, of course," Trip added on. "Can you imagine the look of Soval's face when he sees her in a Starfleet uniform?" he said, referring to Vulcan's ambassador to Earth, and T'Pol's former boss. "Please let me be there!"

"I said I was considering it," T'Pol replied crossly, killing the branch of conversation.

Trip leapt into the silence. "You know, when this is all over, I won't be complaining about the food. I'll just be happy to get back to our original mission."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Archer said quietly.

"You think I'll still be complaining about the food?"

Archer couldn't help but smile. "That too. But when this is over…I doubt we'll be going back to our original mission."

Trip chewed a chunk of steak thoughtfully. "What do you mean?"

"The galaxy changed, Trip," Archer answered. "I think a lot of things changed on April 24." The day of the first Xindi attack.

"Nothing changed on April 24," T'Pol countered. "The galaxy is just as dangerous as it was the day before, and the day after. All that changed was Earth's awareness of the danger."

"True," Archer allowed. "But our policies and our directives are going to change to keep up with our…awareness."

"You're still thinking about what Crewman Daniels said, aren't you?" T'Pol queried with an eyebrow.

Archer nodded. "Do you realize that over half the species we've met have been hostile?"

"Perhaps they haven't been hostile," T'Pol countered. "Merely distrusting."

"Kinda like a galactic version of the 'prisoner's dilemma'," Trip commented in understanding, referring the classic description of intergovernmental relations. "Someone has to make the first gesture, and take the risk of getting burnt by it."

"But just think if we can," Archer said. His eyes seemed to light up. "Earth, going it alone…we'd constantly be looking over our shoulder, preoccupied with defense, scared of every boogeyman who threatens us. But if we could form an interstellar alliance…we could stand strong together! Defense and security would only be a secondary concern, and we could focus our energies on improving lives, and advancing humanity! And the other species, of course," he added hastily.

"But someone has to take the first step," T'Pol noted. "Someone has to do the work to bring such an alliance together."

"Exactly," Archer affirmed. "Our mission statement isn't going to change to focus primarily on defense—but interstellar diplomacy, alliance-building and trust-building, will become just as much a part of the Enterprise's mission as scientific exploration."

"You, a diplomat?" Trip laughed out loud. "I'm sorry, Cap'n, but I'm just not seeing it."

"Captain Archer's diplomatic skills have little to do with his tact," T'Pol replied. "His leadership stems from his moral courage." The room went silent as T'Pol's words registered. "We have mentioned the necessity of finding the first person willing to trust, willing to extend the hand of friendship and mutual sacrifice. The diplomats of the future will lead the way, not through their words, but through the example of their actions, and Captain Archer will be at the forefront of that."

Archer, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, used the moment to slip Porthos another bite of meat.

"Captain, Commander," T'Pol said suddenly, twitching awkwardly. "There is something else I would like to discuss."

"Of course, T'Pol," Archer answered, hoping that he would no longer be the subject of conversation. "What is it?"

T'Pol set down her utensil and rubbed her hands together. Her unease was written into her face, and the words were slow in coming together. "I believe I am no longer capable of fulfilling the duties of the first officer," she said finally, the words pouring out in a rush. Her hands moved faster, as if she could burn off the anxiety propelling her from within.

Archer frowned. His first instinct was to wave off the request; that's what he would do for any of the human crew members. But even under the effects of her trellium use, T'Pol was still the most logical person he knew; she would not be making the request without a strong reason. "This really isn't a good time to consider a change in the command structure," he said at last, setting down his own food. "What brought this on?"

T'Pol looked down at her tubers. "When we were on the Sphere, and under attack, I…froze," she said. She folded her hands, protectively, in front of her face.

A sense of realization permeated the captain's mind. "That wasn't the first time, was it?" he said, feeling a cold wave sweep over him.

"No," she allowed, unwilling to say anything more. "But given the chance of me having another…episode…during combat…"

Archer bit his lip to restraint the building retort. He was a man of action; he didn't like dealing with this sort of touchy-feely emotional stuff, but the pain was evident on T'Pol's face. If the circumstances were different, he reflected…removing T'Pol from command might do her more harm than good.

But the mission…"Very well, Commander," he said at last. "Effective immediately, Trip is temporarily—temporarily—second in command. I trust that you can still fulfill the duties of the science officer?"

"Of course, Captain," T'Pol replied, as if irritated that he even need ask.

Archer felt the pit land in his stomach. In a way, this was a long time in coming; but there was no way to properly prepare for it. If T'Pol was human, it would have been a crushing blow; but she wasn't, and he had to trust that she knew what was best for herself. And if it wasn't for the best…it was for the good of the mission.

"Bridge to the Captain!" Ensign Mayweather's voice shot in over the intercom.

Archer reached up and hit the panel. "Archer here. Go ahead," he ordered.

"We're approaching the terminus of the subspace corridor," Travis reported. "T-minus-three minutes."

"Sound general quarters!" Archer ordered. "I'm on my way." In a flash, the three officers were on their feet and out the door—with Trip dallying just long enough to toss Porthos the remainder of his steak. Could be the poor pup's last meal, after all, Trip thought.

…

Deep in the thrumming heart of the massive, spheroid weapon, amid the green and blue glows of the towering power core, a skeleton crew of reptiles remained to oversee the final launch protocols that would send the weapon hurtling across sector after sector to the Earth system. Final systems checks were ran, final diagnostics conducted, minor strains reinforced and insignificant breakdowns repaired; nothing—nothing—was going to go wrong. When the weapon hit the humans' home system, it would be crackling at the height of its destructive capability, and the weakling, warm-blooded humans wouldn't stand a chance of surviving the impending wave of death.

"Activate the reactor," one reptile growled to another. "Watch the power flow on conduit J-17 for any variance." The flow regulator on J-17 had been replaced due to a flaw in its housing.

"Yes, Lieutenant," one of the technicians answered. The monitors on his console lit up fractions of a second before he heard the massive, pounding sound of the reactor as it powered up, generating the incomprehensible amounts of energy needed to power the weapon.

The lieutenant's face seemed to flicker as waves of blue light cascaded upward through the reactor core. "Commander Dolim," he announced, opening a comm channel.

"What is it?" Dolim growled aboard the bridge of his ship. As a rule, he disliked interruption, especially when he stood at the threshold of such a momentous event: if this was anything less critical…

"The final arming sequence has begun," his subordinate reported. "All systems functioning normally."

That'll do, Dolim thought gladly, although he refused to let a smile reach his scaly face. "Excellent. Inform me when you are ready for launch." With a pounded fist, he closed the channel.

"Sir! A vortex is opening!"

Dolim turned to stare at the officer. "Where?" he snarled angrily. Only the Xindi used the vortex technology, but that still left too many possibilities. Which Xindi species? How many ships? Which side of the nascent civil war were the commanders loyal to?

"Bearing two-seven-nine-mark-three, range four thousand kilometers," the officer reported promptly, and gave his boss a cautious look. "Were you expecting reinforcements?"

"No," Dolim growled. Although far from certain, it tilted the scales in favor of the newcomers being opponents.

Dolim watched closely as the first approaching vessel exited the subspace corridor. It was small, smaller than his own warship, and he knew it was lightly armed: he recognized it as an arboreal scout. Barely worth the time it takes to swat away, he thought in disgust. Two more arboreal scouts emerged behind the first one. "Send a patrol to destroy them," he ordered with the baleful sweep of a scaly fist.

"We're getting additional readings," the science officer replied. A slight tinge of alarm was evident in the second reptile's voice. "More ships are coming through."

"Identify them!" Dolim barked harshly. "How many?"

"Fourteen, sir! Make that eighteen! I'm reading more arboreal scouts…some primate shuttles…gavokh!" The lieutenant swore harshly, and Commander Dolim understood why: at the heart of this incoming fleet emerged a massive aquatic vessel. It easily dwarfed the size of Dolim's largest cruisers, and while designed as a multi-purpose platform for space travel, the aquatic ships doubled as powerful battlewagons, armed and armored for serious combat. "A wing of six ships are approaching the weapon!"

It was a game-changer, but Dolim refused to be discouraged. He knew that Archer and his allies had been lobbying the aquatics; it appeared as though they were successful. Very well, he thought grimly. If they choose to be traitors, then we'll have to destroy them too. He recognized that it was an iffy proposition, but this was a battle to the finish, and he would not yield. "Target the attacking wing!" Dolim barked out. "Have Commander Kolo's squadron maintain position."

…

"I'm reading—twenty-four enemy vessels, plus the weapon, Captain!" Malcolm reported from tactical, double-checking the readings on his board. Not only was the joint reptilian-insectoid fleet larger than that of the new-found allies, but ship-for-ship, it was more heavily armed and designed for combat. Like that's ever stopped us, Reed thought to himself. He watched the targeting crosshatches closely as the Enterprisemoved into range. "They're dispatching half a dozen ships to intercept, and keeping the main force around the weapon!"

Archer, consumed with energy, couldn't sit down. He stood at the center of the bridge, like a sea-captain of old; he was the master of his domain, and the energy of the Enterpriseseemed to flow from its rock-solid commander. "Feel like taking them on, Lieutenant?" He offered Malcolm a grin.

"Just give me the word, sir," Malcolm replied.

Archer nodded. "Bring us out, Travis."

…

Dolim watched in mute shock as the Enterprise slid out from the protective shadow of the aquatic flagship. Do those humans never give up?

"Course set for the weapon," Travis reported.

"Take us in," Archer ordered.

At his command, the Enterpriseleapt forward, headfirst into the enemy fleet. Its speed and momentum carried the ship straight through the first tier of warships, and the one working phase cannon shot out beams of red energy on either side of the gauntlet. Lagging only a second, the enemy poured fire onto the hull of the starship, pounding the abused frame once again with the electric power of weaponry.

Around Archer, the bridge shook under the impact of multiple weapons, but the captain was long since inured. Subconsciously, he took note of a rack of explosions that crossed the bridge, spitting out explosive flames and acrid smoke, but his stance didn't waver. "Steady on your course, Travis," he ordered, eyes locked on the weapon.

…

"The attack wing is breaking off!" Jannar shouted from a rear console aboard Degra's vessel. Completely unarmed, the shuttle hung back from the battle, doing its best to coordinate the action before it. "They're going after the Enterprise!" As he watched, the humans' ship reeled under the forceful blows of the opposing fleet.

"Have our ships adjust to match!" Depac ordered, screaming over the sounds of dozens of tactical alerts. "Let's keep them off Archer's back—let the aquatics focus on the weapon itself!"

…

"We're in range!" Malcolm announced as the massive weapon loomed before them, growing at a seemingly-exponential rate on the viewscreen. The Enterprisearched closer, diving towards the rotating arms that covered the weapon's surface.

"Fire!" Archer ordered.

Malcolm needed no encouragement. The ship's phase cannon strafed the surface of the weapon as they flew over, scarcely a kilometer above. The weapon was immense below them; Malcolm noted in passing that it was the size of a small moon, but the thought was fleeting as he adjusted his fire to maintain a steady barrage.

The Enterpriseswept in low, almost scratching the surface of the weapon, and Travis kept the starship dancing to and fro in a series of eclectic evasive maneuvers. Enemy vessels charged in behind, but Travis' skillful flying made things difficult; if they fired down, from overhead, they had just as much chance of striking the weapon. The only safe attack vector was to come in from a horizontal plane to the Enterprise, and the reptilian and insectoid fighters plummeted downward, chasing the exhaust of the humans' starship.

Travis kept the Enterpriseclose, dancing over the surface of the weapon with the light touch of a water spider, darting in radical angles as he tried to minimize the ship's exposure. T'Pol, who had scant leisure to study the sensor readings beneath him, fed recommended courses into Travis' navigations console, and he made instant use of them as he jigged about in front of concussive weapons blasts.

…

Inside the weapon, the sounds of battle were muted, but still quietly audible, and the ship-cum-weapon shook with the impacts against its great hull. Explosions could be seen, far across the interior of the weapon, but the sheer size of the craft insulated its critical systems from the battle outside.

"They're targeting the primary generators!" One of the reptilian technicians was closely watching points of impact along the hull.

"It is of little consequence!" The commanding lieutenant kept his primary focus on the launch procedures. By the time the humans could cut their way into the core of the weapon, it would be long gone. "Continue the arming protocols! We launch as soon as possible!"

…

Archer finally stumbled, just for an instant, as the Enterprisetook a fierce blow, sending it skidding laterally above the surface of the weapon. In the corner of his eye, he saw T'Pol dive for the deck, as a wave of fiery air swept above her head, and the surge of heat announced to the captain that a main plasma line had burst.

"Minor damage to the starboard nacelle!" Sorenson reported. Standard combat procedures routed damage reports through the communications station.

"Bring us around for another pass," Archer ordered grimly.

The Enterprisecut a harsh loop above the weapon, straining the inertial dampeners to the max as the ship was subjected to gravimetric forces many times those of human tolerance. For a moment, the only thing on the viewscreen was open space, far ahead; then, as the starship completed its loop, the weapon jumped back into view.

"Lieutenant!" T'Pol shouted above the battle din.

"I see it!" Malcolm replied a second later, and Travis simultaneously announced, "Adjusting course!"

The speed of the crew's communication was a success; Travis pulled the ship sharply to port, and in the split second before they overshot the target, Malcolm unleashed a volley of photonic torpedoes. They plowed into an open vent on the surface of the weapon, ricocheting through the conduit and exploding with nuclear force.

"That's it for the torpedoes, sir!" Malcolm called out, hoping that their best shot had been worth it.

"Captain!" T'Pol shouted. "I've located Ensign Sato! She's on board one of the reptilian vessels!"

As the bridge shook under the repeated blows, Archer staggered to the science console, ecstatic about the news. "Can you get a transporter lock?" he asked, then shouted the same in repetition.

"No, sir!" T'Pol almost snarled in frustration. "She could be anywhere on the ship! I can't pinpoint her exact location!"

"It'll have to be good enough!" Archer yelled, and he gripped the front of the console as another wave shook the Enterprise. "Malcolm! Send on the MACOs!"

"Aye, sir!" Malcolm bellowed across the bridge, and with a tap of his controls, he sent the command shooting through the ship's computers to the transporter alcove, several decks below.

"You're a go!" Major Hayes nodded to the transporter technician, and gestured for the first half of his squad to climb onto the platform with him. Weapons up and teeth gritted, they disappeared in the shimmering beam, ready to fight their way through the heart of the reptilian vessel.

…

Unlike the humans—unlike the warm-blooded Xindi, as well—Commander Dolim was not negatively affected by the fires breaking out on the bridge of his vessel. The warmth felt good; it helped to recharge him, enflame his blood and fuel his thirst for victory. It was almost intoxilyzing, serving as a powerful stimulant for his already-heightened battle senses, and with the surge, he felt no pain from the burns creeping along his scaly flesh. He recognized, of course, that the fires represented damage to his ship; but damage could be repaired later. He needed to be at his best for the battle.

"Commander!" The sensor technician yanked Dolim's attention to the rear of the bridge. "We've lost another ship, sir!"

"How many does that make?" Dolim snarled, fixing his slit eyes on the technician.

"Eight, sir—and we've only disabled two of theirs!"

"Bah!" Dolim growled, pounding a heavy fist on the nearest console. It erupted in a satisfying shower of sparks. "We outnumber them! What is the problem?"

"It's the aquatic battleship," other technician reported loudly. "It's coming after us like a dreadnaught!"

Dolim didn't know whether he should seethe or chuckle—while the news was bad, he had a secondary plan prepared. I will have my victory today, he thought. One way or another.

"Open a channel to the weapon!" Dolim demanded. "Lieutenant! We must deploy the weapon now!"

"We're not ready!" The defiant response shot back through the comm channel. "We need more time!"

"I told you to be ready!" Dolim bellowed before catching himself. He would deal with it later. "How much time do you need?"

"Another five minutes!"

"Impossible!" Dolim's ship lurched with a powerful spread of weapons blasts. "We can't keep them off of you for that long! In five minutes, you will be destroyed!"

The concussive sound of fresh explosions cloaked the response, leaving it scarcely audible. "What are your orders then, sir?"

Dolim cocked his head to analyze, one more time, the tactical schematic of the battle; the position and vector of every ship, the position of the weapon, and most importantly, the vertex of the building subspace corridor that would deliver death unto the human homeworld. Wanting to make sure that the weapon was fully armed before sending it to Earth, he had held back on the final launch procedures; but unless his ships could knock out the aquatic cruiser, Earth orbit would be a safer place to complete the final protocols.

"Finish opening the corridor!" Dolim growled furiously. "Take the weapon in as soon as you can, and complete the protocols en route!" He gestured angrily, and the comm channel was closed.

…

Major Hayes and his squad of MACOs gained the distinction of being the first humans to ever—voluntarily—set foot on a reptilian vessel.

Deep in the belly of the warship, six transporter beams shimmered in a staggered pattern, depositing their cargo in a protected alcove. The commandos materialized with their phase rifles lifted, sweeping the shortened corridor around him, but they saw no foes: the reptiles were presumably at battle stations, preoccupied with fighting the combat outside. The lack of response indicated to Hayes that either internal security sensors were offline, or there was no crew free to investigate the alarms.

With a wave of his hand, Hayes gestured his squad forward in a tiered advance; three would move ahead while the other three covered them, and then vice-versa. He had brought the best he had: accompanying the Major were Casey, Hamboyen, Kemper, Parsons, and Romero, who had recently received a battlefield promotion to Corporal. Parsons was the baby of the team; prior to entering the Expanse, he had only served six months with the MACOs, but they were a strong six months, earning the buck private a coveted slot on this most important of missions.

In this manner, the assault team made their way down a corridor, encountering no resistance as they pushed ahead. Depac and Jannar, supervising the spatial combat from behind, had arranged for careful engagement with this particular vessel: enough to keep its crew off-balance, but not enough to cause debilitating harm to the ship—or its occupants. It was an unnecessary precaution, Hayes believed; his commandos had been trained on how to survive under such an assault, and their indifference to the fires, smoke, and shock waves ripping past showed the benefit of their extensive practice.

Coming to the head of the corridor, Hayes lifted his hand scanner for the first time. He had little need to see the geometry before him; navigating a set of corridors was basic, even with the amount of smoke and ash clogging the air. But he was looking for one biosign in particular: somewhere on this ship, the Enterprise's sensors had detected a human reading, and Hayes hoped that his greater proximity would allow him to isolate the signature.

It did.

Unable to see hand gestures in the thick smoke, Hayes resorted to barking verbal orders, steering his team around the corner and into a broader, trunk hallway. They made their way down the corridor, again encountering little resistance, save for one reptilian who stumbled onto the presence of the assault team; a pinpoint shot from Kemper knocked the soldier to the ground, where he lay unmoving.

Moving rapidly, the assault team down the course of the vessel, finally pulling up short when Hayes' scanner indicated that Hoshi was only meters away. He came to a stop because they had reached a branch in the corridor; relying on the scanner now, the major saw a large, open area jutting off to the left side of the hall. Along the back wall were several cells. It looked like a classic brig design; which meant that there had to be guards…the scanner struggled to detect any reptilian biosigns, but Hayes knew that they were there. The cold-blooded beings were difficult to read against the superheated background of a ship on fire, and prudence dictated that he prepare for a firefight.

His team came up close behind Hayes, hunkering down by the deck plating. In their small, smoke-free cluster, the major gave his orders, able to use hand-signals again; but once they rounded the corner, all but emergency communication would be lost. It's no matter, Hayes thought grimly. His team was the best. They knew their jobs, and they would do it.

Refusing to take a deep breath—the ash in the air precluded it—Major Hayes lead his team into the foyer of the brig.

It was over in a second.

The humans crept through the thick smoke, hiding behind the whirling miasma of ash and fog as they approached the two guards from behind. A hand across the mouth, another slitting a knife across the throat, and the guards were dead before they were lowered to the floor.

"Casey! Go!" Hayes barked, no longer worried about making noise. It would be irrelevant in a moment, anyway. Casey got up from his crouch and dashed over the cell door, where he affixed a miniature explosive; a sharp whine crescendoed upward, and as Casey ducked for protection, the powerful mixture blew the cell door out, showering the cell within and the foyer outside with red-hot debris.

Even as the explosion rang out, Hayes was on his feet, pushing through the expanding cloud of dirt-black smoke and into the cell. Keeping low, he found Hoshi laying on the deck, clearly unconscious. Setting down his scanner, the major tapped Hoshi's face, trying to bring her back to awareness. "Ensign!" he called out, hoping to snap her to. "Ensign!"

As he looked into Hoshi's face, Hayes realized that it was futile to attempt to wake her up; she was far gone, drifted into some sort of coma, a mental redoubt that sought to protect what little remained of her mind. It would be up to the doctors to pull her together; Hayes' duty was to get her out, return her to the Enterprise. "Hayes to Enterprise!" he shouted out, flipping open his communicator. "Enterprise, respond!"

"We have enemy approaching!" Parsons shouted into the cell, alerting the major of the impending danger. The five commandos moved with alacrity, seeking out whatever cover they could find in the open-air foyer; Romero and Kemper ducked into the cell, taking up firing positions on either side of the destroyed door.

"Enterprise, respond!" Hayes barked out harshly. An influx of ash caused him to choke, and he turned his head to hack up gray phlegm. He got no response.

It was not the time to dwell on what should have been; Hayes picked up his phase rifle, aimed it through the shattered door, and grimly prepared for a firefight.

…

[The reptilians are under attack.]

[The weapon could be destroyed.]

[The timelines now indicate that is the probable outcome.]

[We must not let that occur.]

[We can intervene.]

[We must ensure the survival of the weapon. Humanity must be destroyed.]

[We will intervene.]

[We will intervene.]

[We will intervene.]

…

Space ripped itself asunder. While the Builders lacked starships or conventional weaponry, they had a more powerful tool at their disposal: the gravimetric distortions that were redesigning the Expanse could be targeted on a specific point of space. Focusing the energy of the entire grid, the resulting anomaly was powerful, far more powerful than anything the occupants of the realm had ever experienced.

"Captain," T'Pol reported, "there's a massive anomaly forming near the weapon. Two more!" The bridge crew watched in silent horror as the distortion bloomed on the viewscreen, expanding faster than their eyes could track; a subspace ripple rocketed through the Enterprise, causing a momentary disruption of every quantum bond on the ship.

Archer felt the brief moment of intense pain as his body threatened to rip apart. "Keep us clear of them, Travis!" he shouted, struggling to keep on his feet. He hunched over, grabbing his gut as waves of nausea pounded him.

"We'll have to pull back!" Travis announced.

"Keep us within firing range!" Archer ordered. They'd just have to bear the pain.

…

Outside, the new anomaly pushed outward, consuming quantum material into its brownish-gold distortion field. The smaller craft bounced off the shock wave, but the heavier aquatic ship was not so lucky. The distortion wave rippled down the length of the vessel's hull, ripping it apart at the seams. Within a second, the great ship was completely consumed, removed forever from the universe.

…

Only one ship remained unscathed: the unarmed transport shuttle that once belonged to Degra, now in the possession of Depac and Jannar. Their distance from the battle saved them from destruction, and even mitigated the damage potential; their sensors remained intact, operating at full strength, allowing them to continue to steer the course of the attack.

But it wasn't all good news.

"Captain Archer!" Depac shouted, triggering open a comm channel.

"Go ahead!" the captain responded, his voice faint.

"The anomalies are creating a barrier between our fleet and the weapon! We can't get through!"

…

Aboard the reptilian ship, the firefight had begun in earnest. Major Hayes squinted closely as he tried to pinpoint the soldiers through the dark, soot-filled smoke, and realized that the enemy outnumbered his own party by a factor of three or four. We triggered a security alert, he realized grimly, but he would figure it out later. For now, they had a battle to win.

The smoke had settled almost to the deck, forming a dark wall between the humans and reptilians, but it did little to slow the fight. Bright beams of energy lanced back and forth, and miniature flames erupted in the cloud as the high-powered electrons encountered tiny pockets of gases. Classic infrared scopes would have been of little use; between the ambient heat of the burning ship and the low body temperature of the reptiles, infrared was a wasted endeavor. It was the far more advanced bioelectrical scopes that gave the humans a chance at success, allowing them to "see" their foes through the fog.

Whatever sensors the reptiles were using, they were also efficient. Hayes gritted his teeth as he heard a human scream; he recognized the sound as coming from Private Kemper. He didn't know if the private was merely injured or dead, but Hayes' trained ears didn't detect any more weapons fire from Kemper's vantage point. Hayes peered closely through his scope, isolating what he hoped was the reptile that had shot Kemper; and the major drilled the enemy soldier with a feeling of vengeance and a deadly beam of energy.

"Enterpriseto Hayes." The major's communicator crackled to life. Unwilling to avert his eyes, Hayes brushed the ground with a hand, finding the piece of miniaturized technology. "Major Hayes, come in."

"Hayes here," he responded, bringing the instrument to his lips. "We'd appreciate an extraction here!"

"You'll have to stand by!" Hayes recognized the voice of Crewman Kapoor, who served as the Enterprise's primary transporter technician. "I'm making emergency repairs to the transporter!"

More weapons fire poured through the thick cloud, covering the foyer with glowing blasts of energy. More reptiles were joining the battle.

…

"The intruders are trapped on level seven." The bridge technician chortled gleefully. "In a few more minutes, they'll be dead."

"And the anomalies?" Dolim demanded.

"They've disabled three more of the aquatic ships," the sensor technician answered.

Commander Dolim did not share his crew's enthusiasm. Thanks to the sudden emergence of the anomalies—at just the right moment, in just the right place, at a strength far above anything he had ever seen—his fleet was going to win the day. But the coincidence was too extreme to ignore. He had rejected the humans' contention that the Guardians were the same as the Sphere Builders—but how else could one explain the divine appearance of this anomaly?

…

"Hayes to Kapoor," the major barked out. He dropped, prone, to the deck as an array of energy beams swept over him. "How soon can you get us out?"

"You have to hang on!" Kapoor replied. "I can't keep the system online!"

Damnit, Hayes growled mentally. He pulled a spheroid object from his belt—his last grenade—and sent it hurtling forward into the pressing mass of reptiles. He was rewarded with a sharp flash and the sound of several bodies hitting the deck, but the volume of weapons fire didn't decrease.

Under the cover of return fire, Hayes coolly noted a human form making a mad dash for the cell door, and his commando—in the smoke, he wasn't sure who—landed in a tuck-and-roll, coming in safely. Leveling his rifle again, Hayes surveyed the no-man's-land between the fighting forces, and added his own barrage of cover fire.

A second commando—Parsons, according to the transponder signature on Hayes' scope—now made his dash for the safety of the cell, firing from his hip as he ran, but the man's luck ran out. A Xindi shot struck Parsons in the leg, knocking him to the ground, and a volley of fire cascaded down on him, causing the commando's body to leap and jump under the electrical surges.

Two down, Hayes thought grimly. The assault had been a chancy endeavor, but his squad had volunteered for it; the idea of leaving a crewmember behind was sacrilege to them. But it looked as though they might lose six, instead of saving one.

"Commander Dolim!" It was the voice of his lieutenant on board the weapon.

"What's your status?" Dolim snarled.

"We've completed the arming sequence. We're ready to launch on your order!"

For the first time in the battle, Dolim sat down in his command chair, and he leaned back in satisfaction. These humans may have made it close—but they failed.

"Open the vortex," Dolim ordered.

…

The barrage of fire poured into the cell, plastering every accessible centimeter with superheated energy, forcing the defenders to cringe behind what little protection they could find. Hayes recognized the maneuver: it was preparation for an all-out assault. In seconds, he knew, the squads of reptiles outside the cell would be coming through the door, relying on their superior numbers to overwhelm the defenders inside.

In the midst of the chaos, a grin broke over Hayes' face. A line of poetry flickered,[2] unbidden, through his mind. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight. Hayes jumped to his feet. Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay. He charged forward, into the mass of reptiles, screaming with the fury of a thousand dying stars. As he ran, he fired shot after shot, and with a thumb triggered his phase rifle into overload. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

…

"Captain!" Sorenson's voice rose over the screeching sirens of the bridge. "We've lost the assault team's transponder signatures!"

The words hit Archer hard, knocking him back into his command chair. The implication remained unsaid, unneeded. The transponders had been destroyed. But there was no moment for grief, no time for regret.

"The power readings from the weapon are increasing!" T'Pol shouted. A round of explosions cut off her next words.

"The weapon is moving!" Malcolm reported. His knuckles were white as he maintained a death-grip on the edge of his console. "It's moving into the vortex!"

Archer was back on his feet, catapulting forwards to navigation. "Follow them in, Travis!" he barked.

"Sir—" Mayweather's voice was quiet, but it cut across the bridge. "The engines are completely out. We're not going anywhere."

…

In the fractured space outside, the great weapon disappeared through the event horizon of the vertex, followed closely by its escorts.

…

"They're gone, sir," Malcolm reported.

---

[1] Box of Rain by The Grateful Dead

[2] Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night, by Dylan Thomas.