Ride the Lightning (5): Devil's Dance

by jtm1848

New alliances are forged as the weapon is launched.

– DEVIL'S DANCE –

In other dimensions, the customary frames of reference—the brain's superficial translation of the underlying quantum fabric—are different. Not just changed slightly, not just warped, but fundamentally transformed into something alien and mystifying, defying every effort of the mind to impose some sense of recognizable order onto the chaotic surroundings. Length, width, depth, time—all are present, but gone; other dimensional realms are marked not just by the absence of such cognizable order, but by the presence of other organizing themes that defy any attempt at comprehension by the humanoid mind. It is not just different: the very frames of reference are altered and warped beyond the brain's capacity to translate.

In this altered quantum soup, other forms of intelligent life develop, adhering to patterns and traits native to their own dimensional reality; they learn, they grow, they change as their minds develop, intuiting a sense of constancy around them. It is unfair to say "in time," for time, as such, is not the same; but as change occurs, as the living minds advance, they slowly develop an understanding of the superficial realm around them. The power of the living mind surge forward, in synch with its surroundings, and that tickling sensation at the back of the mind grows and emerges into the forefront. The mind dives beneath the surface, and starts exploring the deeper quantum nature of its reality.

In another quantum soup, three minds were conferring.

[We've been successful. The Xindi weapon is days away from completion.]

[The timelines don't support that assessment.]

[What have you seen?]

[The number of lines with favorable outcomes has diminished. There is now a probable chance the Earth ship will prevent the weapon from being launched.]

[Not necessarily. Timelines are sensitive. They're prone to temporary fluctuations.]

[This is no fluctuation. This is a trajectory away from our desired outcome.]

[See that you alter the trajectory. Definitive actions are necessary to correct this. The weapon must be launched.]

[Earth must be destroyed.]

…

Feb. 10, 2154

It is amazing, Phlox thought to himself. In the last several days, sickbay had all but emptied out; along with discharging the bulk of the command staff, fourteen other crewmen had been released from medical care, and only one case—a rather nasty case involving a fractured spine—remained behind. Following the doctor's weeks-long marathon stretch of medicine, the relaxed atmosphere was a welcome change. I almost don't know what to do with myself, he realized happily.

"I'm not detecting any trace metabolites of trellium in your system," he told Commander T'Pol, reading the results from his hand scanner. "It looks like your body has flushed them completely out. That is good news," he added, catching T'Pol's panicked expression. "How are you feeling?"

"The emotions have been getting more difficult to control," the lithe Vulcan answered, her body quaking subtly. "I was hoping it would get better once my system was clean."

"Oh, now, T'Pol, that's not the way it works," Phlox replied, clucking. "The trellium metabolites were a crutch for your mind: they were helping to keep your emotions tamped down. It's no surprise that you're experiencing a greater impact now. But don't worry, give it time." He set down the med scanner and injected T'Pol with a mild pain reliever. "Is meditation helping at all?"

"Mildly," T'Pol admitted. The temporary rush of the analgesic soothed her tired mind. "But when I emerge from meditation, and return to the—" she gestured around them. "To the chaos, it seems to disappear instantly."

Phlox gave his best smile. "T'Pol, your brain chemistry has changed. You need to change your patterns of thought to keep up with it. For the longest time, you had the Vulcan mental disciplines to help you deal with daily aggravations; then you had the trellium. Now that you've lost both of those, you need to develop new techniques. I daresay I can help, if you're willing to work with me."

T'Pol nodded slowly. "Anything to get rid of these aggravations, Doctor," she answered, the exhaustion written across her face. "I'm still experiencing frequent—" T'Pol paused as the door to sickbay slid open, granting access to Commander Tucker. "Irritations," she finished.

"You okay?" Trip asked as he approached Phlox and T'Pol.

"I'm fine, Commander," T'Pol replied tartly. "Just a mild headache."

As T'Pol turned to leave sickbay, Tucker got out a parting shot. "I thought Vulcans didn't get headaches!...You notice anything strange about the way she's been acting, Doc? It's like she's trying to avoid me."

"There isn't anyone on the ship who hasn't been affected by recent events," Phlox replied, dodging the question. "What can I do for you?"

Trip reached back, behind his left shoulder. "I think I pulled a muscle—yeah, right about here. Pain's pretty bad."

"Ah, that shouldn't be a problem," Phlox answered, gesturing to a biobed. "Have a seat."

While Phlox busied himself preparing a hypospray, Trip continued. "We've been running double shifts in engineering," he said reflectively. "Funny thing is, all the work has been on the engines. Captain's in such a rush to get to this damned Council that he's neglecting our defensive systems."

"He believes he can get the Xindi to reconsider their attack on Earth," Phlox observed. "He's gotten us this far: we owe him a little faith."

"Oh, I have faith in the captain," Trip retorted. "Just not in the people he's trying to convince."

Phlox returned to the side of the biobed. "Degra seems to be a reasonable man."

"Reasonable, Doctor?" Trip's voice shot up. "I don't think many people back in my hometown would go along with that!"

"Maybe not," Phlox allowed as he injected Trip with the hypospray.

Tucker experimentally rotated his arm, but the pain was gone. "Thanks, Doc," he said softly.

…

"The Spheres are controlled by a network of artificial intelligence," T'Pol explained to Degra as she cued up the appropriate image on the wall monitor. She, Degra, and Captain Archer had gathered in the Enterprise's command center to brief the Xindi-primate on the Spheres.

She zoomed in on one sector in particular. "This section houses the redundant memory core," she noted. "If we can gain access to it, we should be able to download a significant amount of information."

"We're hoping that'll include data on the Sphere Builders," Archer added. "Who they are, where they come from, what their plans are…that sort of thing."

Degra nodded in agreement, a habit he had picked up from these humans. "Simply identifying them would help us with the Council," he noted. "If they truly are the same as our benefactors, then the Xindi have been played for fools this entire time." He spoke bitterly.

T'Pol shifted the image to a local star chart. "Our present course will take us close to another Sphere."

"Will you have a chance to study it more closely?" Degra asked skeptically.

"We're planning on it," Archer answered. "I'm sending a crew in a shuttlepod. They should be able to join up with us later."

"But how do you plan to get inside it, Captain?"

Archer exchanged a directed look with T'Pol. Degra didn't know the humans well enough to interpret it. "We're pretty sure we've found a way in." Changing the subject, Archer went on. "You've mentioned the Xindi have been studying the Spheres for decades."

"We have," Degra admitted, "although we haven't made nearly as much progress as you have. Your scientific skills are nothing short of amazing."

"Nonetheless," T'Pol replied, "we're interested in any information you have, particularly anything on the construction of their outer shells."

"I'll send over whatever's in my database," Degra answered. He momentarily wondered at what moment he had cast his lot with the humans, but he quickly turned his attention back to the task at hand.

…

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed peered through the targeting sights of a phase rifle, unhappy with the results: test firing had shown that the weapon was off by nearly half a centimeter, but after disassembling, reassembling, retesting, disassembling again, and reassembling again, the margin of drift had not changed. Half a centimeter was unlikely to make a difference in battle, he knew, but Malcolm had the perfectionist quirks of a good weapons officer, and this rifle was testing his expertise.

"Sir!" Malcolm lowered the weapon and turned as Corporal Hawkins crossed the armory bay. Hawkins was a member of the MACO (Military Assault Command Operations) contingent assigned to the Enterprisefor the Xindi mission. "You called for me, sir?"

"Yes, Corporal," Malcolm replied stiffly, maintaining his best military comportment. "I've been reviewing service transcripts. Yours indicates that you have over a thousand hours in an EV suit."

"Yes, sir!" Hawkins answered, pulling to attention. "I did six months on the Janus loop, sir. I logged almost twelve hundred hours of extravehicular time."

Malcolm looked up at the taller man, wondering momentarily how someone with so much experience under their belt could look so young. "Are you interested in joining our mission to the Sphere?"

Hawkins broke into a broad grin. "Yes, sir!" he answered enthusiastically. "I'm always ready to stretch my legs, sir."

Malcolm replied with a grin of his own. "Get prepped, Corporal. You're dismissed." As Hawkins turned to leave, another thought crossed Malcolm's mind. "Corporal—the Janus loop. That includes EV combat training, correct?"

Hawkins turned back to answer. "Yes, sir. Are we expecting a fire fight?"

"Honestly, Corporal," Malcolm replied, taking a breath, "we don't know what to expect, and I'd rather be ready for anything."

"Of course, sir," Hawkins answered. "I won't let you down, Lieutenant."

…

So just where does the line lie between being a patriot and a traitor? Degra thought morosely as he rubbed his eyes, trying to invigorate the blood vessels that ran along the surface. Maybe it's not that simple. Is it possible to be both? He rubbed furiously until his eyes grew sore.

Or is it possible that, for all their protestations, the reptilians are the true traitors? he wondered. They're the ones who, out of willful ignorance, would doom the Xindi races. Degra chuckled to himself. They who believe the Xindi can do no wrong will take our people to ruin, and us—the skeptics—will have to save the pieces. Do they intend to destroy us? Isn't willful ignorance—isn't recklessness—a form of intent? They're not being close-minded out of an inability to see reality—it's out of unwillingness. They're dwelling in a false land of illusion by their own choice.

Slowly, as he thought, Degra felt the blood start rushing again, easing the weariness that gripped him. Those who believe in Xindus first and Xindus only will lead our peoples to ruin, he repeated. They pick fights with potential allies, and lead us into wars we cannot win based on bald lies. Are those the acts of patriots? A burst of red temporarily clouded Degra's vision. If your only hope for saving your people is by betraying their leaders, then are you truly betraying your people? I think not.

"Commodore." The word was repeated, slowly drawing Degra out of his reverie. He was standing in the command chamber of his vessel. Several Xindi-primates were working around him, and one was trying to get his attention.

Degra shook his head violently, trying to clear the mental fuzz. "Yes, of course," he said slowly, getting a fix on his bearings. He looked down at the young officer sitting behind the craft's equivalent of a science console. "What is it?"

"I ran the search as you requested," his subordinate reported. "I've begun compiling the data."

"Well done," Degra replied, still trying to pierce his mental fog. "Well done," he repeated. "When it's finished compiling, send it to the Enterprise."

"Yes, sir," the officer responded, respectfully ignoring his superior's lack of focus. The young man returned to his duties, leaving Degra alone with his thoughts.

On the other hand, Degra thought, what if my actions don't save the Xindi peoples? What if I trigger a civil war instead? Then will I have violated my own theorem? He shook his head. No, it won't happen—Archer has already told me what the future holds. If the Xindi turn on the Builders and cooperate with the humans, it will form the basis of a lasting peace.

But another thought troubled him. Only madmen claim to know the future, he reflected. Only the crazed claim to understand the greater schemes of the gods. Is Archer crazed? He makes a strong case, if one is willing to extend him the value of trust. But how do I know that he can be trusted?

"It's not too late." Degra spun around, his attention captured by the distinct, atonal voice of a Builder. The being had shimmered into existence behind him

Degra stared at the bland-faced being with visible suspicion. "Everyone, get out!" he ordered, but he saw no movement in the corners of his vision. "I said, you're all dismissed!" he repeated.

To Degra's chagrin, his crew looked to the Builder for verification, and when it gave a nod, they stood up and left.

"Not everyone has forgotten what we have done for your people," the Builder said calmly after the last crewmember had left the room. "We have brought your people to the brink of greatness. I would think by now that we've proved the correctness of our guidance."

"Have you really?" Degra retorted, letting the tiredness fuel his anger. "You take credit for everything good, and claim that everything bad only happened because we rejected your 'guidance.' But it's just as possible that the reverse is the truth—you're leading us to destruction."

"If we wanted to destroy you, we would have done so long before now," the Builder replied. Its voice was nearly purring. "We've had plenty of opportunities, after all. Or have you forgotten how shattered the Xindi were when we came to you? And now you're strong, proud, working together for the glory of the Xindi—and yet you insist on seeing dark schemes and conspiracies where there is only enlightenment and cooperation."

"What do you want?" Degra shot back bitterly. "Did you come here for a reason, or merely to pester me?"

"You've turned away from us," the Builder answered. "But we wanted to let you know that we harbor no ill will towards you. We want you to come back, to help us restore Xindus to greatness."

"I can't," Degra answered roughly. "In case you've forgotten, Xindus is no more—it was destroyed a century ago, so stop telling me that we can restore the glories of the past. That chapter is long closed."

"I can hear it in your voice, Degra," the Builder replied sweetly. "You have betrayed everything you believe in, and now you're in turmoil. You're trying to justify your decisions, but you know deep inside that you can't. Don't take my word for it; listen to your own inner voice, Degra. Trust your instincts."

Degra started pacing about the command chamber. "I don't regret what I'm doing!" he barked, but his voice wavered. Try as he might, he couldn't deny that inner voice, and the Builder made an excellent point. He didn't know if he could trust Archer; he didn't know if he could trust the Builder; but he did know that he could trust his own voice from the darkness, and it pulled him toward the Builder.

"At one time or another you must have asked yourself why we've protected the Xindi for so long," the Builder continued, its voice laying on the syrupy sweetness.

"Many of us have wondered that," Degra acknowledged shortly, suddenly unwilling to speak. He no longer knew what would come from his mouth: would it respond to his mind, or to his heart? They pulled him in opposite directions, and the outcome of the battle was far from clear.

The Builder gazed upon him benevolently. "It's because we can see a future where the Xindi are no longer fragmented, no longer struggling for their very existence."

With those words, Degra's mind screeched to a halt, as he remembered his own thoughts from moments earlier: only madmen claim to know the future. His own gaze flickered and hardened, but the Builder failed to take note.

"The Xindi are destined to become a great civilization," it continued. "Your power will span the quadrant. The other races will bow down before your might. This is already written, Degra. You must allow the future to come to pass." The Builder looked at Degra, waiting a positive response.

"No." Degra's voice became cold. "The future is unwritten and unknowable. You know nothing of the destiny of the Xindi, because destiny itself is a mirage for the weak-minded." Degra stepped towards the Builder, his voice bristling. "You have manipulated my people from the day we met you. We were desperate for hope, and you filled our minds with your 'visions' of the future, your promises of greatness and power."

"We seek what is best for the Xindi." The Builder's face remained passive; Degra momentarily wondered if it was able to move. "We seek only to fulfill your potential."

"You never answered your own question!" Degra fired back. "Just why do you care so much about the Xindi becoming great? What is your motive in all of this? And don't feed me this 'generosity of your heart' nonsense—no intelligent being acts without some self-interest. At least Archer is honest with us; he doesn't deny that he's trying to save his people!"

Degra's exhaustion left him as he built into a pique of fury. "But you and the others—you've never been completely honest with us! You built the Spheres, didn't you? You can't even deny it!" The Builder backed away from Degra's spittle. "Why? Why are you so intent on helping the Xindi with one hand, when you're destroying the fabric of our space with the other?"

The Builder seemed to grow taller. "How dare you question us? Haven't we proved our good intentions? You really have forgotten all that we've done for your people! We saved the Xindi from extinction! Would we have done that if we sought to destroy your space? Of course not!" The Builder answered its own question. "Thus, even your logic should recognize that we did not build those Spheres!"

The Builder's presence swelled until it seemed to fill the chamber. "Degra, you created a device that will prevent a devastating attack. Because of you, your people will live to see the future. Your name will be spoken with reverence for generations to come! History will remember you as one of the forefathers of the new Xindi race! But you would throw that all away." The Builder let its voice drop. "Instead, you have chosen the role of betrayer, but history won't remember you that why—if your betrayal is successful, there won't be any Xindi left to remember you."

"How I'm remembered isn't for you to decide!" Degra retorted furiously.

"You used to have faith in us," the Builder replied sadly. "What have we done to lose it?"

"You never deserved my faith," Degra replied bitterly. "I was a fool. But know this: I will save my people from the likes of you."

…

Feb. 11, 2154

"They have lied to the Xindi!" Degra paced furiously in a tight circle around Archer's ready room. Between the debris and the low light, there was little room to do much more, but the scientist's anger needed an outlet. "They did build the Spheres! They've manipulated us for decades, I can see that! They've steered us every step of the way, brought us to the brink of committing genocide, and it was never about the Xindi! They made us pawns in their transdimensional war! And we were so desperate for hope, that we bought into it—every bloody step of the way!" His rage rose further. "I wonder if they were behind the last civil war—if they forced us to destroy Xindus, just so that they could step in as our saviors!"

"I wouldn't put it past them," Archer agreed. He sat on the edge of his desk, giving the primate room to pace in the confined space. "But now it becomes a question of convincing others."

"My people seem to harbor a view that the—the Builders can do no wrong," Degra snapped angrily. "It won't be easy to see past that. It's a view built into the very fabric of our new society. Not all Xindi are like me, Captain." Degra took a deep sigh, and felt the exhaustion sweep over him. "I'm a scientist: I'm trained to keep an open mind, to look past my preconceptions. But Xindi culture is based on certain beliefs, certain hegemonic notions, and getting others to see through those—well, perhaps some can." He rubbed his eyes again. "Not many, but for the time being, we only have to convince a few. Perhaps we can get the arboreals."

Not for the first time, Archer found himself wondering if the Xindi-primates had a diurnal rest cycle. "We have the evidence to back it up," he noted.

"Evidence won't be enough, Captain," Degra replied, upset at Archer's naïveté. "These are deeply held beliefs. If we challenge them, people will just retreat more deeply into this—imaginary world where everything Xindi is automatically good, and the Sphere Builders are never wrong." Degra eyed Archer closely. "Are humans really that different?"

"No," Archer was forced to acknowledge. "In recent years, we've gotten better—our own cherished beliefs led to a worldwide war that nearly annihilated us. But I understand what you mean: some people prefer the fantasy to the reality."

"And it's worse when they're the ones in power," Degra snorted. "They'd destroy an entire civilization because they believe it's predestined. We're not going to convince them that the Sphere Builders are the true enemy, Captain."

"Then what can we do?" Archer asked softly, folding his arms across his chest.

Degra thought momentarily. "Our best hope is convincing them to wait," he replied finally. "Convince them that the human invasion isn't imminent, and that we have the time to pursue alternatives."

"Are these beliefs really that engrained?" Archer asked cautiously.

"The Xindi aren't a group of zealots," Degra answered defensively. "I'm not sure you understand—imagine this worldwide war that you mentioned. Now imagine that it destroyed your planet entirely, killed 90% of your population, left the remnants wandering your solar system in small, unsophisticated lifeboats. You're desperate, hopeless, unable to find a place to live, or food to eat, running out of oxygen, unable to even communicate with each other."

Archer nodded, indicating that he understood the scenario. "The Sphere Builders really did save the Xindi from extinction," Degra continued. "When our homeworld was destroyed, they began appearing to the survivors. They'd guide them to habitable planets and show them the location of valuable resources. They're practically worshipped, Captain. We even call them the 'Guardians.'"

"It's no wonder you had a hard time accepting this."

Degra brought a hand up in front of his chest, gesturing toward himself. "I was brought up to revere them. I taught my own children to give thanks to them at the end of each day. That's what we're facing."

"I've stood before a Klingon tribunal," Archer answered, wincing from the phantom pain evoked by the memories of his 'interrogation.' "I can handle a tough room."

"I have no idea who these 'Klingons' are, but I'm sure they weren't determined to destroy your world."

"They were sure determined to destroy me," Archer reflected wryly. "The evidence is strong. If I present it will, perhaps it will be enough."

Degra noticed the slight catch in Archer's voice. "We'll be facing the Council together." He spoke reassuringly. "I'll have to take my seat alongside the primate delegation, but I'll be at your side no matter what happens. We're in this together, Captain, until the bitter end."

"Bridge to Captain Archer." Ensign Sato's voice intruded upon their conversation.

"Go ahead," Archer answered, wondering momentarily why Hoshi was still at her post in the wee hours of the morning.

"We've picked up several Xindi vessels," Hoshi reported. "They're closing on our position."

Degra saw the look of alarm cross Archer's face. "They're friends, Captain, or at least neutral: they're primates, arboreals, and aquatics. They're here to grant you safe passage to the Council. And when we reach the Council's location we'll need their protection," he added grimly.

…

"Certain members have more influence than others," Degra said as he and Captain Archer altered their path down the corridor. To one side, a power conduit was spitting out a steady stream of sparks as it waited for the overtaxed repair teams.

"Anything you can tell me about them will help," Archer noted. "I need to know what I'm up against—and if I can tailor my arguments…" He let the sentence dangle.

"There are two representatives from each of the five races," Degra commented. "One has the vote; the other is an advisor. You've meet Depac, the primate councilor." Archer nodded in recognition. "I serve as his advisor," Degra continued. "He'll be skeptical, but leave him to me. I've earned his trust."

Archer smiled, wondering how many times the word 'trust' was going to come up before their mission was done. It's rather annoying, he reflected. For all of our technology, for all of our advances, everything always boils down to the hardest element of them all: granting unverified trust. I suppose that's the common thread in all sentient species. "Who else is there?"

"There's the arboreals." Degra slowed as he picked his way through an unlit stretch of corridor. "You know Jannar, their councilor. He's fair-minded, a scientist, he'll listen to the facts. The arboreals are hesitant to be the first to commit, but if you can make a logical case, he'll follow Depac's lead. I actually count Jannar as a close friend."

"He spoke to me before leaving the Enterprise," Archer recalled. "I think we made a connection."

Degra nodded in agreement. "He's a good man. Unfortunately, the other members are somewhat more complicated."

"Let's start with the aquatics," Archer suggested, recalling his brief moment of consciousness aboard their ship. He acknowledged a crewmember as they passed. "To me, they're a complete unknown." Archer winced mentally at the phrase.

"Kiaphet Amman'sor," Degra replied. "She's a member of the Ibix dynasty, a very wealthy, very powerful family. The aquatics are slow to reach a decision." He snorted. "We have a saying. 'You can count every star in the sky before an aquatic will reach a decision.' But once she reaches an opinion, it carries considerable weight."

"That sounds like a good thing," Archer replied. "If she's slow to reach her decision, she must be reflecting on every aspect."

"To be honest, no one really knows what goes on in the mind of an aquatic," Degra answered slowly. "Their opinions, when they reach one, are maddeningly inconsistent."

"What about the insectoids?" Archer asked next.

"Their names grow longer the older they get," Degra responded. "And I can't pronounce them in the first place. It took me many years to learn to understand their language. In many ways, insectoids are the opposite of the aquatics."

"They're quick to take sides," Archer answered, understanding. "We've run into them before."

"They're quick to take sides, and they're easily swept up by paranoia," Degra confirmed. "We stand little chance of swaying them. I'd recommend not even wasting your breath on them."

"Which brings us to the reptilians." Degra took a deep breath. "Commander Dolim serves as their councilor. He has a reputation for being cold-blooded." The two men rounded a corner. "There's a story about him. I don't know if it's true, and I'd like to believe it isn't."

Archer raised his eyebrows. "His daughter gave birth to a son," Degra explained. "He had a deformity in his right arm. Not life-threatening, but enough to preclude military service. The boy died soon after. It's rumored that Commander Dolim had his own grandson poisoned, rather than tolerate the 'weakness.'"

"From what I've seen, it's not hard to believe," Archer replied softly.

"I wish I knew if it was true," Degra said. "As a father, it's always in the back of my mind whenever I have dealings with him: if he'd do that to his own grandson…he'd be happy to get rid of my entire subspecies. I've always wondered just how the Builders convinced him to participate in the Council; he has no respect for the warm-blooded Xindi. He believes the reptilians were meant to dominate Xindus, and I swear, it's only the Builders that have prevented him from making a power grab."

…

Feb. 12, 2154

As the head of the reptilian Defense Force, Commander Dolim normally eschewed the perks of command—he even refused to adopt a loftier rank than "Commander." Indeed, when he had joined the military, he never sought—nor even considered—rising to the level of commandant. He was a soldier in the ranks of the Defense Force, nor more important than those entering battle around him; his military career was dedicated not to his own promotion, but to the promotion of reptilian and Xindi greatness.

Still, when Dolim reluctantly accepted his dual position as the reptilian representative to the Xindi Council, he kept one perk that came with the position: on board his flagship, he installed a solar room.

For the cold-blooded reptilians, space travel was a trial to be endured. They could artificially master the ambient heat in their vessels, but it wasn't the same as the warming rays of a sun. So Dolim's vessel contained a sauna of light, its overhead units designed to mimic the life-giving radiance of a star, and its floor lined with rock beds that absorbed and exuded the soothing, natural warmth.

Dolim refused to open his eyes when he heard the doors slide open. He flicked out his tongue, testing the air; he recognized the scent of his aide-de-camp, who knowingly entered quickly, allowing the doors to shut before the heated air could escape.

Dolim snarled softly. He did not like being disturbed in his solarium; but his aide was a smart reptile. Whatever it was, it would be important.

"What is it?" Dolim barked, still refusing to open his eyes.

"We've located debris from the ship we sent to find Degra," the aide reported without hesitation. Dolim was not the sort to execute the messenger. "Seven light years from here. It's within the cloaking barrier of a Sphere, Commander."

So that's why it took so long, Dolim mused. They hadn't heard from the ship for nearly a week. He rolled onto his side, en route to standing up. "Any indication of how it was destroyed?" he demanded.

"Preliminary survey shows scoring consistent with weapons fire," his aide reported, looking off to one side. Moving from a horizontal position to a vertical one was difficult for the rigidly-built reptiles, and it was inappropriate for an inferior officer to watch his commander during the moments of struggle. "They were likely attacked. Further analysis should reveal who did it."

Yes, who did it, Dolim repeated in his mind. If Degra had rendezvoused with the humans, then the humans are the likely belligerents—although we believe their ship is too badly damaged to put up any fight at all. Is our analysis wrong? Did the humans withstand our attacks? Or did their repairs proceed that quickly?

Another thought occurred to Dolim. He tried to banish it from his mind, but the troubling nugget refused to disperse. I don't suppose Degra did it? He's not a soldier—he's never even been in combat. No, he's too weak. He doesn't have the steel to fire on another Xindi vessel. Does he?

"Continue your analysis," Dolim ordered as he found his vertical balance. "I want to know how that ship was destroyed—and who did it," he added, baring his fangs. "I will not allow an assault on a reptilian ship to go unpunished."

"Commander." This interruption came over the vessel's intercom. "There are six ships approaching."

Dolim raised his voice and snarled. "Can you identify them?"

"Yes, Commander." The bridge officer paused for a quick moment. "We're reading Degra's ship in the lead. The Earth vessel is in the middle. The other four are a primate vessel, an arboreal, and two aquatics."

It would do no good to kill the messenger, Dolim repeated to himself. His ire was sparking sharply. He expected this from Degra and Jannar. But the aquatics? They weren't as soft as the warm-bloods. What were they doing with the humans?

…

Minutes later, Dolim was back in uniform, standing in the center of his vessel's bridge. Half a dozen reptilian officers manned the circular consoles around him, bringing the warship to battle readiness. The commander didn't need to supervise their efforts: his crew was the best in the fleet, and he knew they were ready for a fight. If Degra's going to drop the humans right in front of us, it won't even BE much of a fight.

"Contact Degra's ship," Dolim ordered, not deigning to look at his communications officer.

A familiar face appeared on the viewscreen. "This is Degra," the primate said curtly.

"Degra," Dolim growled. "I was just thinking of you. How many prisoners have you taken?" It was a shot in the dark—Dolim needed information, and he would not be passive in obtaining it.

"None," Degra responded firmly. "The Enterpriseis here by her own choice. We're escorting Captain Archer to the Council."

"What?" Dolim barked back, mystified. Why would Degra bring the human all the way to the Council before seizing him? Is he that timid?

"Councilors Depac and Jannar have granted Archer an audience before the Council." It only took two of the five representatives to do so. "The aquatics agreed to grant him safe passage."

"For what purpose?" Dolim demanded, his eyes narrowing to vertical slits. He wasn't accustomed to being confused, but something was taking place that he did not understand. Why would Archer even WANT to talk to the Council? He didn't like not knowing what was going on, and the commander ascribed to an old reptilian maxim: when in doubt, fight.

"You will learn when the time is appropriate," Degra replied archly. "Now power down your weapons and allow us to pass."

The impertinent bastard! Dolim could feel his ire rising. "What makes you think I would let you bring an enemy ship into a security zone?" he roared angrily, taking a step forward. "Are you being played for a fool, Degra? You would let the human bring a fully-armed starship into the heart of the Xindi Council?"

Degra refused to yield. "Power down your weapons. Now!" The primate could feel his body trying to quake in unease, but he consciously held it back, maintaining a firmness that he did not feel inside.

"I don't take orders from you, scientist!" Dolim snarled. "I give them! Do I need to remind you of your place?"

"Commander!" Dolim's head whirled to the side at the whispered alarm from one of his officers. "They've launched a torpedo at us!"

"What?!" Dolim roared in disbelief as his ship rocked with the force of explosion.

"Three hundred meters off the port bow, sir!" the officer reported promptly. It was a warning shot; trust a warm-blood to not have the steel to launch an actual attack, Dolim thought.

The commander turned his attention back to the viewscreen. "You would fire on a Xindi vessel!?" he bellowed, trying to intimidate the primate through sheer force of will into standing down. Unlike Degra, he wouldn't hesitate to fire, if the need arose; but firing on another Xindi—even a warmblood—was not his first choice.

"We're prepared to destroy your vessel if necessary." Degra reaffirmed his stance.

"Commander!" The whispered warning came again. "They're locking weapons!"

When did the scientist get this kind of nerve? Dolim wondered momentarily, surprised by the resistance put up by Degra. No matter. First things first. "Prepare to return fire!" he growled.

"You're outnumbered and outgunned!" Degra replied harshly. "There's no need for this! I assure you—the Earth ship poses no danger, and there are plenty of escorts to keep it that way."

Dolim gritted his teeth, still unsure of what to make of Degra's new-found steel. The reptilian found it hard to believe that primates would fire on other Xindi—and it was nearly impossible to believe that arboreals would; the weaklings lack the intestinal fortitude for combat. But the aquatics—that's where the balance lies. Once the aquatics make a decision, they don't change their minds. If the aquatics have guaranteed safe passage, then they will stand by it. And I can't afford to alienate them.

"Very well," Degra growled unhappily. "I will join the escorts. And I will see you in the Council chamber, Degra."

"I look forward to it," Degra answered. He cut the comm channel before the quaking started.

…

It's been a long road, getting from there to here. The phrase popped, unbidden, into Travis' mind as he navigated the shuttlepod towards the Sphere. For the life of him, he couldn't recall where he had heard it; but nonetheless, it was there, lodged into his mind, reflecting the lengthy flight time it had taken to reach the Sphere. For that matter, he told himself, it also fits our entire mission: we're going on ten months in the Expanse. Who would've figured? Images of the mission flew through his head—the genetic alterations caused by the Loque'eque pathogen; the mysterious telepathic alien named Rajiin; the bizarre religious war among the Tria'nna; and dozens of other events, people, places, that had arisen as the Enterprise flew deeper and deeper into the Delphic Expanse.

"Five seconds to the barrier!" Travis called out to the cramped occupants of the shuttlepod as he reduced the craft to maneuvering speed. "Three! Two!" He ceased the count as the front of the pod slid through the cloaking barrier with barely a ripple, disappearing completely from external view.

Towards the rear of the shuttle, he heard a sharp bang. It didn't sound like a crucial system, and a quick check of the diagnostics revealed that it was nothing major. "Don't worry!" he called out. "It's just an RCS inverter!" The equipment, while nice, was far from critical.

"Shut it down," T'Pol ordered. "Adjust heading zero-two-six-mark-three."

Inputting the navigational commands, Travis brought the shuttlepod around in a gentle curve, targeting the massive, metallic Sphere before them. The size of a small moon, it was unyielding, nearly filling the vista, surrounded by a bed of visible ripples in the quantum continuum. Next step, Travis thought, is finding the front door.

…

By the Terran midday, the Enterpriseand its escorts reached the Xindi Council world. From overhead, the planet looked white; vast swathes of thick clouds covered the upper atmosphere, blocking any view of the terrain beneath.

Trip stopped the captain as Archer entered the lift. He was on his way to the docking port to transfer to Degra's vessel, where he would pick up a shuttle ride to the surface. "I'd breathe a whole lot easier if you had a couple MACOs along to watch your back," the engineer said, concern evident on his face.

Archer smiled at his friend. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Keep my chair warm for me, alright?"

"Aye, sir." Trip folded his hands behind his back. "Good luck, Captain." He stepped back to allow Archer to depart.

At the last second, as the lift doors closed in front of the captain, the petite form of Hoshi Sato slid through. "Hoshi!" Archer was surprised by her entrance. "Is there something else?"

"Yes, sir." Hoshi paused a moment as she felt the lift shift velocity, but then forged forward. "If it's okay with you, sir, I'd like to accompany you to the Council." Her delicate features were etched with timidity, but her voice contained a firmness that shocked the captain.

"There's no need for you to come, Hoshi," Archer responded. He consciously kept his eyebrows in place. "I have your latest additions to the translator."

"Well, you never know when you'll need a live translator," Hoshi answered, fidgeting.

"Is there something else, Ensign?" Archer asked with curiosity. It was quite unlike Hoshi to seek out away team duties—in fact, she tried to avoid leaving the Enterprise. This request was very unusual for her.

Hoshi took in a deep breath. "Sir, I—I want to do something more. More like—you, or Commander Tucker. I want to contribute more to the mission than just sitting on the bridge."

Archer couldn't keep his left eyebrow from rising. "Very well, Ensign," he replied, surprised and pleased by her initiative. "I'd be happy to have you along."

"Thank you, sir."

The two lapsed into momentary silence before the captain spoke again. "So how is your Insectoid these days?" he asked lightly.

"It depends which dialect," Hoshi answered with her own faintly-teasing tone. "There are sixty-seven."

"Is that all?" Archer asked as the lift doors whooshed open. The docking port was meters in front of them. "Should be a piece of cake for you."

"Yeah, but you'd be lost without me," Hoshi retorted with a grin.

…

"Aquatics respect boldness and confidence," Degra mentioned as he, Archer, and Hoshi began their descent into the cloud layers. He had arranged to travel sans a pilot so that he could provide last-minute prep for the humans. "They view hushed tones with suspicion."

"I'll make sure I project," Archer commented. He was watching through the front window, waiting for the clouds to clear.

"Not too loudly," Degra continued. "The insectoids interpret raised voices as a sign of hostility."

Archer gave Degra a pointed glare. "So speak firmly, but not too loudly. Anything else I need to know?"

Hoshi didn't look up from her padd as she answered. "When aquatics use the past tense, they switch to sonar."

"I'll try to do the same," Archer muttered. "How much longer until we land?"

"You should see it in a moment," Degra answered.

Archer was surprised. "But we're still two kilometers up."

"The Council Chamber is carved into a cliff face, high above the planet's surface," Degra replied as he adjusted the shuttle's pitch. "In fact, the only way in is through the air. You can't reach it from the surface, and the cloud layers hide it from above. It's perfectly concealed."

Archer opened his mouth to answer, but fell silent as the view started to clear. It was starkly beautiful.

Amid the rolling banks of white clouds, massive stone spires rose upwards, pushing through the atmospheric haze. They were resplendent in dusky hues of reds and browns. Archer racked his brain, trying to find the right analogy, but it was unreal: the closest he could come was the broken terrain of the Grand Arches in Utah, but this was larger on an exponential scale.

Ahead of them, carved into the side of a spire, was a row of windows that seemed to organically merge into the surrounding rock face.

"Avians," Archer whispered, realizing suddenly who was responsible for the scenic construction.

"It's beautiful," Hoshi concurred, unable to look away.

"Avians," Degra confirmed softly. "The sixth Xindi race. This was built centuries before they became extinct. According to our archaeologists, it's over four thousand years old."

…

"Kind of feels like being called to the Principal's office," Archer said softly as the trio made their way down a darkened, stone-lined hallway. The surroundings were awe-inspiring; the notched stones were smoothed down a sandy finish by millennia of wear, and only an occasional candle lit the way. One could imagine the beings that walked this path before on their way to the Council Chamber, and the muted atmosphere communicated a sense of reverence and wonder.

"I was never called to the Principal's office," Hoshi replied, just as softly. Their footsteps echoed down the corridor.

"I was once," Archer answered, and he fell silent as they stepped through a rocky aperture into the unlit antechamber.

"Move aside," Degra commanded. As the captain's eyes adjusted, he saw two reptilian guards blocking the solid doorway. Reluctantly, they stepped aside, and Degra pushed the doors apart.

"What for?" Hoshi asked, her nervousness evident.

"When we're done here," Archer whispered, and he gestured for the ensign to follow him in.

As they entered, the low voices went quiet, and every set of eyes turned to face the newcomers. The Chamber was infused with an orange glow radiating inwards through the expansive windows in the cliff face.

"You've brought humans into this Chamber, Degra," Commander Dolim snarled, standing behind the great stone table. "Explain yourself…if you expect them to leave here alive!" The insectoid councilor chittered his agreement.

"I'm fully prepared to explain my actions, Councilor," Degra replied bitterly. He stared, unyielding, at the reptilian. "There's no need for threats."

"We agree." Jannar jumped into the sparing with a pre-arranged smoothness. "We've reviewed the data you sent, Captain Archer. It makes a strong case. We're prepared to listen to what you have to say."

One by one, the assembled Xindi delegates took their seats around the horse-shoe shaped stone table. At the near end—the 'feet' of the horseshoe—were the arboreal and primate representatives; along the two sides sat the reptilians and insectoids; and at the top of the horseshoe, the rock wall bore a transparent barrier, behind which the aquatics swam in their life-giving watery environment.

The Council table itself sat at the bottom of a deep depression within the Chamber. At the forefront of the Chamber—next to the feet of the table—was a set of four stone stairs, hewn soft over the eras of use, and the Starfleet officers stood at the top.

"You killed seven million of my people," Archer said quietly. It wasn't the opening he had planned on, but as he stood there, looking down at the five Xindi races, he discovered that he had no patience for softened diplomacy. He had to make his case, and he was going to do it with truth. There was too much at stake to play games with semantic subterfuge.

"I want to be honest with you," he continued. "I don't much like standing here."

Depac's eyes dropped down in acknowledgement, and Jannar gave the spoken reply. "We did what we thought was necessary."

"I know," Archer answered. "When we first entered the Expanse, we were intent on revenge. Of course, we were trying to stop the second weapon, but…that wouldn't have been enough. We were enraged with anger, and we wanted blood for blood."

"So what is your point, Captain?" Depac demanded sharply.

Archer nodded slowly. "My point is this: I stand before you today, defenseless. Rather than obtain our revenge, we are seeking your friendship. There are bigger things at stake, and we want to meet them head-on, side-by-side, with your peoples."

Dolim snorted. "Of course you're seeking our friendship. We hold your planet's survival in our hands."

"It's not that simple, Commander, and I believe you know it." Now Archer stepped down into the well of the Chamber, Hoshi following behind. "You've been told that at some time in the future, my world is going to destroy yours." He raised his voice. "That's a lie."

Chittering angrily, the insectoid councilor banged four hands furiously on the table.

"He said, the guardians have never lied to us," Hoshi translated the exotic sounds nearly instantly.

"But they have," Archer replied, keeping his cool in the face of provocation. "We know for a fact that the Guardians built the Spheres." He stepped into the midst of the horseshoe. "The Spheres are causing the anomalies that make up the Expanse. They're reconfiguring its fabric, altering it to become habitable for their people. They're preparing this region of space for colonization."

"You reek of desperation!" Dolim growled, and Archer turned to face the new challenge. "You would say anything to save your world, as evidenced by this—this manufactured data!" The reptilian pounded a data pad on the table's surface.

"It's the truth!" Degra shot to his feet. "The data is accurate! Anyone with an objective eye will come to the same conclusion!"

Dolim stared at the scientist disdainfully. "You no longer know what the truth is, Degra. Your sympathy for these humans—" he spat out the word like it dirtied his mouth. "—has corrupted your judgment."

"My judgment is perfectly sound!" Degra retorted furiously.

Dolim rose from his chair slowly. "Were you using sound judgment when you attacked my ship?" His voice built into a roar.

"You were trying to prevent us from reaching this Council!"

"I was protecting this Council!" Dolim bellowed back. "And I would do it again! And again! Rather than having these humans feeding us their lies!" The spittle flew from his mouth as the reptilian shook in vehemence.

Sonar screeches extruded from the aquatics. "This is not relevant," Hoshi said, reading the sentence from her translator screen. "We're here to discuss the human's claims."

"Agreed!" Depac spoke furiously as he jumped to his feet, positioning himself between Degra and Dolim. "We need to return to the subject at hand!"

The room went silent as the two combatants eyed each other balefully. After several seconds, Dolim returned to his seat, and Degra did the same.

Well, this is going better than I expected, Archer mused. He addressed Dolim. "I am trying to save my world," he acknowledged. "You would do the same. And you should do the same, because it's not just Earth that's in danger."

"We know that," Dolim leaned forward, snarling. "You humans are trying to destroy the Xindi!"

"No, we're not, Commander," Archer replied with a whisper. "Do you see a fleet of Earth warships in orbit? Do you see a gun strapped to my side? Am I standing in front of you, dictating terms of surrender?"

"No," Dolim replied grudgingly. "But that doesn't mean you won't in the future."

"I know my people," Archer said softly. "It may have taken us millennia, but we're learning how to forgo that first, impulsive drive towards violence." The captain moved forward slowly until he was eye-to-eye with the reptile. "And the truth of the matter is, if you wipe out mankind, you'll doom yourself."

"I refuse to listen to any more of this!" Dolim shot back to his feet.

"Earth is going to lead the battle that defeats the Sphere Builders!" Archer retorted, his own fury spiking suddenly. "It will save the Expanse from destruction, and the Builders know it! That's why they're manipulating you, trying to set you against us!"

"Enough!" Dolim roared. His voice echoed around the Chamber. "I will not listen to these lies! For the good of all Xindi, I demand the immediate seizure of the Earth ship, and the execution of its crew!"

"No!" Degra was back on his feet, shaking with wrath. "I will not allow it! Any vessel that attacks the Enterprisewill be fired upon!"

"You will not defy this Council!" Dolim bellowed in response, as the tension in the Chamber boiled over.

"This Council hasn't arrived at a decision yet!" Depac jumped in furiously.

"And we never will until the delegates take an honest look at the evidence!" Degra shouted.

"You're a fool!" Dolim retorted. "I should've known—when the time comes for decisive action, you primates lack the backbone! You insist on listening to this human's lies, just to cover your own weakness!"

"A willingness to analyze the evidence is a strength, not a weakness!" Degra shot back.

"I've had enough of this!" Dolim roared. "If this Council will not defend its people, then I see no reason to continue this farce! This Council has no reason to exist!" With a furious gesture at his reptilian guards, Dolim strode toward the doorway, leaving fury in his wake.

"Wait!" As Dolim passed, Degra grabbed the reptile by his shoulder. Spinning around, Dolim leveled the primate with a fierce blow.

As Archer leapt over to assist the fallen scientist, the insectoid delegate grabbed a hold of the human, and knocked Archer flat onto the Council table. The insectoid was chittering frantically, and Archer looked to Hoshi for a translation. "You don't want to know," she answered.

A loud echo resounded through the Chamber as the doors slammed shut behind Dolim. "I hope you're happy, Captain!" Depac snarled. "We may have just started a civil war for you!"

…

Detailed scans of the Sphere's exterior scrolled down T'Pol's monitor in the cramped compartment of the shuttlepod. Her fingers deftly tapped the controls as she searched for an entrance. The Sphere's shell was made up of many thousands of sheets of alloy, the joints sealed against intrusion. But, logically, there has to be something…if not a door…

"Hold this position," T'Pol said calmly as she checked her theory. "We have an exhaust vent."

"Where?" Reed asked, confused, as he stared at the Sphere through the front window. He could see no openings in the face of the shell.

"Almost directly ahead," T'Pol answered. "Ensign Mayweather, set a course, zero-three-one-mark-four."

Malcolm peered harder as the Sphere grew before them. "I don't see an exhaust vent," he said, growing concerned.

"You sure about this, Commander?" Travis added. He didn't think that T'Pol's recent illnesses had affected her judgment too badly, but…"I'm with the lieutenant on this one. I'm not seeing any exhaust vent."

"It is not necessary that you see it," T'Pol replied archly. "Half thrusters." The Sphere continued to grow before them, but no holes in the shell appeared.

"T'Pol!" Malcolm was growing alarmed.

T'Pol ignored it. "Hold your course, Ensign," she ordered. Travis' eyes opened wide, but he held the shuttlepod on course.

Behind him, Malcolm reached for a crash bar. "I'm telling you!" Reed barked. "There's nothing there!"

"Hold your course!" T'Pol repeated firmly.

Travis gulped, but followed his orders as he watched the range finder drop. When it hit zero, he braced himself for the collision.

The shuttlepod slid through the shell with nary a ripple.

"The hell?" Malcolm said, taking a deep breath.

Corporal Hawkins looked at the readings on T'Pol's monitor. "It's some kind of hologram, isn't it?" he said.

"Exactly," T'Pol confirmed.

"You could have warned us ahead of time," Malcolm muttered.

Travis broke into a grin. "I think the commander just played a joke on us!"

"Vulcans do not joke, Ensign," T'Pol replied, but the smile stayed on Travis' face. "Proceed down the length of this conduit."

Moments later, the shuttlepod emerged from the exhaust vent into the cavernous interior of the Sphere. T'Pol was surprised by how much of it was open space; the primary construction was confined to the core, extending outward to two intersecting points with the shell. The core itself was composed of a lengthy, narrow beam of brilliant white light, rounded by ranks of alloyed platforms and support conduits. They seemed to glow with a faintly bluish-silver hue.

"Sixty degrees starboard," T'Pol ordered as Travis brought the shuttlepod forward on a landing vector. "Eighty degrees z-axis." She glanced towards Malcolm. "We should prepare for EVA."

"Let's break out the suits," Reed agreed, and he and Corporal Hawkins opened the pod's storage bins.

…

"We've had difficult sessions before," Jannar noted as he paced around the room. Following the disintegration of the Council meeting minutes earlier, the primate and arboreal delegations claimed a smaller conference room in which to discuss strategy. Partly by invitation—and partly by lack of an alternative—the two humans joined them.

"In the days following the founding of this Council," Jannar continued. "Many of the early meetings went roughly." He seemed to take solace from the recollection; like many of his people, Jannar was a passive being, and felt threatened by serious change.

"This is different," Depac countered, his ire still high. "The Council is on the verge of tearing itself apart!"

"You underestimate us," Jannar replied evenly. "The Council has endured, and it will continue to do so."

"Are you so sure of that?" Depac glared at the arboreal. "I know the Council pulled through before, but we were never faced with the threat of impending extinction! Don't you think that the reptilians will shatter the Council, if they believe it is necessary?"

"Not even the reptilians would be that foolish," Jannar answered. "The Council has kept our people together for thousands of years. Are you suggesting that they would throw that all away, out of a sense of momentary panic?"

"We were all in the same room!" Depac retorted. "You saw what happened!"

"We knew it wasn't going to be easy!" Degra joined in. "We knew this was a risk, but we decided that it was worth it! Are we changing our minds now? Maybe Dolim was right—we are scared of making the tough decisions!"

"The problem is not us!" Depac replied angrily. "What happened to your great plan to convince the reptilians? They haven't even shown an interest in listening! And then there's the insectoids—no one even knows what's going through their minds!"

"Then we'll focus on the aquatics," Archer spoke calmly. Four Xindi turned to look at him. "You only need three of the five subspecies, right? If the reptilians and insectoids are beyond reach anyway, then it makes sense to focus your efforts on the aquatics." He absolutely refused to add, it's only logical.

"The aquatics aren't any easier to reason with," Degra answered harshly. "Sure, they'll listen, but to get a decision? They weigh every argument in excruciating detail!"

"We might just have a chance with them," Depac countered thoughtfully. "For a long time, they were against building the weapon. They might still be harboring discomfort about it."

Now this has promise, Archer thought. "What changed their minds?"

"The Guardians addressed the Council," Jannar answered. "They presented a visual record—at least, what they claimed was a visual record—taken from the future."

"It showed mankind destroying our new homeworld," Degra explained. "It was…powerful evidence. Powerful enough to sway my own judgment."

"And that convinced the aquatics," Archer said, understanding. "So we need to come up with something just as powerful."

"But what?" Depac replied miserably. "Whatever we do, the reptilians will just call it fake."

Where there's a will, there's a way, Archer told himself, and repeated the mantra again. We just have to find it.

As Archer ran through possibilities in his head, his eyes were drawn to a narrow, streamlined skull sitting in an alcove.

"It's avian," Jannar explained, catching the captain's interest. "The sixth Xindi race. They once darkened the skies of Xindus with their numbers."

"They went extinct thousands of years ago," Degra added with a note of melancholy. "We formed the Council to prevent the other Xindi races from sharing their fate."

"Your Council just might have the opposite effect," Archer retorted. "If we can't sway the aquatics, all of the Xindi races will share that fate."

"Perhaps not." Degra's voice lost its melancholic tone. "I might just have a way to convince them. I'll need the services of your ship's doctor, Captain."

"Anything you need," Archer replied gratefully.

…

Commander Dolim's blood ran hot. After storming out of the Council Chamber, the reptilian Councilor returned to his ship, seeking the calm solace of his solarium; but he got no further than the command center, where the Guardian appeared out of nowhere. Now, the Guardian had the nerve to accuse him—to accuse him—of failure. If I could get my hands on the transparent creature, I would rip it limb from limb!

"The Council is preparing to betray its own people," the Builder/Guardian said in umbrage. "It should never have been allowed to reach this point."

"Archer has achieved nothing!" Dolim growled angrily. "The Council will never move against the Xindi people!" His subordinates grunted in agreement.

"He has succeeded in raising doubts about us," the Guardian replied primly. "The arboreals and primates have already decided to follow him, and the aquatics are considering what he had to say." The alien flickered in and out of transparent existence. "He should never have been allowed before the Council."

"And what would you have had me do?" Dolim retorted, seething in anger. "Disregard the Council? Fire on other Xindi vessels? Some of us still believe in Xindi unity!"

"And now they may decide against launching the weapon," the Guardian countered archly. "What kind of unity is it if it destroys your people?"

"The weapon is no concern of yours," Dolim growled. "I will make sure that it is deployed."

"For that to happen, three of the Xindi species must agree."

Dolim's response was cut off by the impertinent comment of one of his subordinates. "If we can prove to them that your people didn't build the Spheres…" the second reptilian said unctuously.

The Guardian tilted its head to stare at the reptile, as if taking note of his presence for the first time. "Prove to them, or prove to you?" the transdimensional being hissed furiously.

Dolim couldn't decide who he wanted to knife more. In a rare feat of equanimity, he sought the middle road. "My lieutenant meant that it would be…preferable if we could persuade the Council of the correctness of our actions," he said, quashing the veiled accusation against the Guardians. Inwardly, although he would not permit such brazenness under his command, he was grateful that his officer had pushed the point. The Guardians had done nothing to counter the allegations made by the humans, to the extent where even Dolim was forced to wonder why not.

"Persuasion is no longer a viable option," the Guardian responded firmly. "You must act with the insectoids. Secure the weapon!"

Dolim's eyes narrowed to scaly slits. This unformed ghost of a being would rather have us fight other Xindi, destroy the Council, destroy our racial unity, rather than offer a single piece of proof of its sincerity! A more troubling thought chased that one—at least Archer is offering proof, even if I've rejected its authenticity. The human seems to care more about Xindi unity than this Guardian does…and our unity is a greater threat to the humans than to the Guardians.

"The weapon's well guarded," Dolim answered cautiously, verbally exploring the depths of the Guardian's demands. "There would be a battle—Xindi would have to fire on Xindi." No response. "The casualties on both sides would be heavy." Still no response. "There may be no going back—such an act may ensure civil war."

"A temporary schism cannot be avoided," the Guardian answered finally. "But you must do what is necessary to ensure Xindi survival."

So we have to destroy our brethren in order to save them, Dolim thought disgustedly. What this being calls a 'temporary schism' means thousands—hundreds of thousands—of lives lost, ships destroyed, planets scoured. What kind of 'Guardian' would order its flock into civil war?

The alien seemed to sense Dolim's skepticism. "The Xindi race will emerge stronger and more unified than other," it said. "But not under the control of the Council—the Reptilians will preside over the Xindi empire. You will no longer be held back by the timidity of your weaker, warm-blooded kin. If the reptilians act now to eradicate humankind, then we can guarantee reptilian dominance in the great Xindi race."

The reptilians were not known for their uncertainty. "Understood," Dolim growled as the being faded into nothingness. The Guardian was right: a temporary schism now would strengthen the Xindi in the long term. Except…something about it still troubled the commander.

He had one more task to complete before retiring to his solarium. "You," he snarled, stepping up behind the impertinent lieutenant. "If you ever question the Guardians again, your skin will adorn the bow of this ship."

…

High above the planet's stratosphere, where the Enterpriseorbited with its escorts, plans were underway to thwart the will of the Guardians.

"Yes, this will be very helpful," Degra said, looking over the visual data displayed on sickbay's overhead monitors. He had joined Dr. Phlox in the medical center to review the records of the Builder 'test subject' found weeks previously by the Enterprise; a test subject who bore an uncanny resemblance to the Guardians.

"Glad to help," Phlox answered happily. "I'll have the data sent to your ship immediately." In truth, not only was he glad to help, but he was glad to help this way. It seemed like his contributions consisted of stitching up the battle-wounded, and sending them back to the firing lines. To have an opportunity to do something constructive—something that might help prevent battle—brought home a unique feeling of pleasure. "I've never heard of this procedure," he added, giving voice to his curiosity.

"It was developed by the aquatics," Degra noted, standing side-by-side with the Denobulan. "They seem to have an innate distrust of the spoken word. Odd, since they communicate with each other via sound, but still…some of our scientists suspect that the aquatics may be low-grade telepaths."

"It's an intriguing possibility," Phlox responded. He unconsciously bobbed his head in rhythm with Degra as they both continued to look up at the monitor. "I've heard suggestions that aquatic species have a higher rate of telepathy. I'd love to learn more about the ancestry of the Xindi aquatics." Among Phlox's twelve degrees was one in evolutionary exobiology.

"Unfortunately, they protect their privacy zealously. Our scientists believe that the aquatics were the first Xindi race to achieve sentience, and they seem to have an unwillingness to allow the 'younger' races to see inside them." Degra gestured upwards at the screen. "Regardless, they respond more strongly to visual stimuli, so they developed this holographic technology."

"Do your scientists have any theories as to how five sentient races could develop simultaneously, on the same planet?" Phlox's curiosity was unveiled. "Normal theory suggests that, during the early-sentience phase, one race would destroy the others."

"Six races," Degra corrected the physician. "One race was destroyed."

Another voice broke into the conversation. "Am I disturbing anything?" Trip Tucker asked cautiously. He wasn't certain of why the two scientists were standing side-by-side, both looking up at the monitor, with their heads nodding in unison. Maybe it's some alien trait, he decided. "You need me for something?"

"Ah, Commander!" Phlox shook off the slight trance and turned his head to welcome the engineer. "Come in, come in! We still have the transport pod that carried this alien, don't we?"

"Yeah," Trip answered gruffly. He shot a hooded glare at Degra.

Phlox caught the look, and dropped the cheery tone. While he didn't technically outrank the commander, he recognized quickly that he would have to resort to a command tone. "There are some modifications that need to be made to it."

Degra took a deep breath. "Captain Archer would like you to assist with the work." He spoke firmly.

"Lucky me," Trip groused, and he gave Phlox a momentary glare of opprobrium, as if to say, did you volunteer me for this? With a faint 'follow me' gesture to Degra, Trip spun on one heel.

The engineer was through the main doors before Degra caught up. "Your captain thinks that there's no one better to make these modifications." He got no response from Tucker's back. "I agree with him," Degra continued, trying to further extend the olive branch.

"Do me a favor," Trip snapped over his shoulder. "Don't try to get on my good side. The captain didn't order me to like you."

"I understand you and I will always be enemies, but—"

"You got that right," Trip muttered.

Exasperated, Degra grabbed Trip by the arm, and spun the human to face him. "Listen! I can't change what happened to your sister, or any of the other seven million!" he hissed. "Believe me, if I could go back and undo my actions, I would! But now, my priority is in making sure the second weapon is never used!"

"Do you want a medal or something?" Tucker retorted. His eyes shot poisoned darts at the arch-murderer. "Is this your best plea for redemption?"

Degra's body quacked with fury. "I'm not seeking redemption, Commander! I've done far too many wrongs to ever deserve it! But I am risking my life, I'm risking the lives my family. I've killed members of my own people, and I may be plunging us into civil war! All because I'm trying to save both our worlds!"

Trip looked on, his face hardened. "This way."

…

In many ways, the central core of the Sphere resembled an old-fashioned jungle gym. The miasma of girders, support beams, railings, platforms and conduits formed an unending maze of gut-wrenching twists undesigned for the bulky EV suits. At the center of the tangle was the glowing, solid core, which extended outwards to the termini on either side of the shell.

"I'm picking up a very powerful energy signature," Malcolm Reed noted as the team clambered along a thick beam. A low-grade magnetic lock kept them anchored in the zero-gravity environment.

Malcolm carried a hand scanner in one gloved hand, and a phase rifle in the other; he wielded both as weapons. "The signature reads different, somehow," he added. The entire Sphere generated one extensive power reading, but this one was unique.

"It is most probable that we're approaching the memory core," T'Pol replied. Even though she was mere steps behind Malcolm, her voice sounded fainter and more distant over the EV comm units. "It's fifteen meters ahead."

The team went silent again as they continued across the alien terrain, weaving their way through the jutting, metallic braces and around the massive conduits, until they reached a clearing.

Extending off one side of the power core, the 'hole' in the mechanical jungle was at least ten meters in diameter, forming a roughly-circular design. The top half—the relative top—was open. The bottom half was bordered by sloping, convex walls that narrowed down to a platform at the base of the empty space. Placed in sixths around the edge were recognizable ladders.

On the base platform rested a piece of mechanical equipment. Bright lights flashed amid the bulky metallic components, and it hummed with a resonating tone that made T'Pol's nerves stiffen. It was unmistakably a computer core.

"It's practically gift-wrapped," Malcolm muttered over the comm, looking down at the site below them. It would be a simple matter to drop down the smooth sides and access the memory core.

"It is possible that the Sphere Builders never expected intruders to get inside," T'Pol replied seeking out a logical explanation for the lack of security measures. "It is also possible that the core itself contains protective devices."

"Whichever it is, let's get on with this." Malcolm pointed with a gloved hand. "Let's try that ladder. I'll take point; Hawkins, you bring up the rear."

…

In a darkened recess, a hexagonal access port dilated open, revealing a glaring red laser. The light began to move forward, emerging from its haven, revealing a mechanical arm.

…

"I'm detecting some kind of movement!" Travis shouted suddenly over the comm channel.

Malcolm paused, midway down the ladder. "Can you identify it? Locate it?" he demanded, his head rotating rapidly. Unsurprisingly, his eyes were unable to pick up the movement, but it wouldn't stop him from trying.

"No, sir!" Travis reported a moment later. "There's too much interference!"

"It could be a maintenance drone," T'Pol suggested, her calmness contrasting with the humans' excited tones.

"Or it could be a defensive weapon," Reed muttered grimly. "I thought this was too easy. Travis, I need to know more!"

"It's closing on your position!" Travis' voice peaked. "I don't have firm coordinates but it's close!"

"I suggest we work fast," Malcolm suggested harshly, and he pushed off from the ladder, allowing his momentum to carry him downward.

Archer leaned backward in his chair, stretching his arms above and behind his head. He could hear the stiffened vertebrae in his back crack under the relaxing pressure; a spasm of pain in his left shoulder reminded him that if—when—they returned to Earth, he would be spending quite a bit of time under medical attention. His body had endured repeated assaults during their time in the Expanse, and all of Phlox's ministrations couldn't make up for good, old-fashioned rest.

The door to his ready-room chimed in mid-stretch, and Archer paused to utter, "Come in."

Degra, noticing the captain's unusual pose, stepped in hesitantly. "I can come back, if this is a bad time," he offered.

"Come in, come in." Archer waved the primate in as he tilted his torso to the side, and realized that the spasm of pain in his abdomen was hunger. That's right, his mind reflected briefly. It has to be around 1800 hours. A half-opened ration pack sat on his desk.

"We've completed the work," Degra reported. "Mr. Tucker was extremely cooperative. I know…it isn't easy for him, working with me. I just wanted you to know that he's putting it aside."

Archer nodded as he brought his arms forward for a final stretch. "Trip's one of my best officers. I wouldn't have brought him if I didn't think I could handle it." Noticing the Xindi's hesitation, the captain stood up and, stepping forward, placed a hand on Degra's shoulder.

"Degra, when I was on the future Enterprisefour hundred years from now, there were Xindi aboard. Humans and Xindi were serving together in the Federation." Archer spoke to reassure the scientist.

Degra grunted. "Captain, I still don't know what to make of your time-traveling claims—I can't deny the evidence, but yet I refuse to believe that the future is already written. But I will say this, Archer: if there is even the possibility of humans and Xindi coming together in peace, then I'm ready to fight for it."

…

The Council planet was located in a relatively-average binary star system, with two stars temporarily designated "Delphi Iota 2398 A" and "Delphi Iota 2398 B" by the science team aboard the Enterprise. Both were dim red dwarfs, the most common type of star found in the Milky Way, and were smaller, dimmer, and cooler than Earth's own sun. The two stars were locked in an eccentric orbit with an average distance of 56 astronomical units (AUs)—roughly the distance between Sol and its Kuiper Belt.

The system only held three planets, although a plethora of rocky debris showed where protoplanets had formed and were ripped apart in the contrary gravimetric forces of the twin stars. Delphi Iota 2398 A-1 and A-2, were both Class-F. It was Delphi Iota 2398 B-1 that had caught the eye of primitive Xindi astronomers, for it was Minshara-class: humanoid-habitable. Long before the Guardians emerged to guide Xindi destiny, their early explorers had voyaged to B-1 to investigate it for colonization.

Tucked inside the narrow habitable zone of a red dwarf star, B-1 orbited at a distance of only 0.15 AU. Its orbital period was only 39 Earth days, but that was largely insignificant for the planet's biosphere: B-1's close proximity to the star meant that the planet was tidally locked, with perpetual day on one side, and perpetual night on the other. The thick, moist atmosphere served to circulate heat, balancing the otherwise-harsh temperature variations and diluting the impact of solar flares.

The nearness of solar heat kept the humidity from settling out of the atmosphere, generating a constant cover of heavy fog and clouds above the dry wasteland below. The visible rays of the star lit up the clouds with a harsh, yellow glow that seemed to cover the rocky surface with a hellish ambiance that ebbed and flowed with the movements of the haze.

For the second time that day, Captain Archer and Ensign Sato found themselves beneath the cloud cover, walking through the anteroom to the Council Chamber.

"Passing notes," Archer whispered as they rounded a corner.

"Sir?" Hoshi replied, perplexed.

"I got sent to the principal's office for passing a note in class," Archer explained, smiling at the recollection. "It was to Katy Bentley—I was inviting her to a party a friend of mine was throwing."

Hoshi got a sly look on her face. "What'd she say?"

"Funny thing," the captain answered. "She'd already turned me down, but after I got in trouble—" A loud clank resounded before them, announcing that the chamber doors were opening.

"Some women can't resist the bad boys," Hoshi slipped in with a grin, and they stepped into the chamber.

…

There are dozens of different subtle hints in any diplomatic situation, Archer reminded himself as he surveyed the aliens in the chamber. While he lacked formal diplomatic training, even Starfleet was not immune from internecine scheming, and years of meetings had taught him how to read the signs. And don't get me started on the Vulcans—everything with them requires interpretations of the smallest gestures and tones. Archer was chagrined to realize, a moment later, that Hoshi was undoubtedly far ahead of him.

Nonetheless, he took it as a positive sign when Jannar, and not Dolim, opened the meeting. "After much deliberation," the arboreal said languidly, spreading his hands wide, "we've agreed to listen to this new evidence you wish to present."

Depac, the primate representative, gestured for Archer to move to the center of the chamber. "Proceed," he said firmly.

Archer stepped forward gratefully, feeling a sense of elation. We swayed the aquatics, he thought to himself. Intellectually, he knew that it was a minor success: by reputation, it was easy to convince the aquatics to consider new information. Steering them into a decision—particularly one that ran counter to their previous choices—that was a different matter entirely. Nonetheless, the captain felt that it was a promising sign, and he was going to take every hint of promise he could get.

This is our last chance—let's start right at the core, he told himself. It's time to toss everything in. "The Sphere Builders, and the beings you call the Guardians, are the same species," Archer averred as he slowly paced the chamber. He made a point to look at the aquatics. "This is a simple factual claim, which can easily be proven or disproven."

"And have you manufactured more false data to prove this claim?" Dolim retorted sarcastically. The reptile was unusually calm in his demeanor; Archer didn't know what to make of it.

"Before I show you, let me explain how we obtained our proof." Archer kept up his slow pace. He spoke firmly, but not loudly; assertively, but not aggressively. He made many hand gestures for the aquatics, but kept them slow for the insectoids.

"A few weeks ago we were mapping one of the transdimensional disruptions. Inside the disturbance we located an alien pod, constructed of the same combination of alloys that make up the outer shell of the Spheres. The implication was clear—it was made by the same people." The implication may be clear, but I'm going to state it anyway. "We brought the pod on board the Enterprise, and when we opened it, we found a dying alien—it was one of the Sphere Builders."

"And is this alien still alive?" Dolim cut in, his tone mocking and hollow. "Or did he conveniently die—at your hands—before this Council could have a chance to question him?"

A squatter of sonar came from the aquatics. *You've already presented this information,* Hoshi translated.

Dolim turned his head to look at the linguistics officer. It was not in his nature to pay much attention to subordinates; he had registered her presence, and otherwise ignored her. But it took quite a bit of skill to translate the aquatic language…even their fellow Xindi struggled with it. Perhaps this linguist was worth taking a longer look at.

Archer swung his head, trying to drill the reptile and simultaneously reassure the aquatics. "He may have died, but not before we could collect additional information—information that we have yet to present," he said, nodding at the aquatics. He flipped open his communicator. "Energize."

The transporter beams shimmered in the center of the Council Chamber, and as they cleared, all eight of the dry-land Xindi silently rose to their feet, as if bidden by a mysterious force. They watched the beam solidify with undisguised curiosity, and each of them—even Dolim—stared in amazement as it coalesced into a life-support chamber containing a body.

"This is the alien that we recovered," Archer finished, as the delegates continued to gaze in wonderment. "This is a Sphere Builder."

Jannar, who was in on the plan, had to shake off his awe. "Your data stated that this alien disintegrated when it came into contact with our universe," he countered, following the carefully-planned script. "This can't possibly be its original body."

"No, it's not," Archer acknowledged. It was an old persuasive trick—always front the bad news. It removed much of the sting, and allowed the proponent to explain away the inconsistencies before an opponent could seize on them.

Degra took his cue. "What you're seeing is a biometric hologram. It's constructed from the medical data collected on the Builder by the Enterprise's medical officer."

A collection of chitters and clicks came from the insectoid. *How do we know that the data used to create this phantom wasn't falsified?* Again, Hoshi supplied the translation.

Dolim turned back the linguist. He was unaccustomed to being surprised—but now, twice in one meeting, the human inferior had demonstrated linguistics abilities that rivaled the best of his own officers. He could do a lot with one such as her.

"The humans don't have the technology to produce this simulacrum," Degra stated firmly. "This hologram was constructed by own scientists, using the technology we use to train our physicians. If there had been any—alterations—to the data, we would have detected it when we compiled the hologram."

A heavy question weighed unasked: Degra has shown partiality to the humans. Even if the humans are incapable of falsifying this, Degra's scientists could. How do we know that they didn't? No one gave voice to the suspicions: it was strictly forbidden to question the veracity of another Xindi in the Council Chamber.

"Tell me." Archer gestured to the pod. "Is this one of your Guardians?"

Jannar stepped around the table and approached the side of the pod. "The physical resemblance is hard to deny," he said, peering at it closely.

The silence from Dolim was becoming oppressive.

Sonar squealed from the aquatics. *It is a Guardian,* Hoshi said.

The insectoid delegate chattered frenetically. *We are not deceived by this illusion,* Hoshi repeated. *Restore the dignity of our Council. Expel the aliens from this chamber.*

Dolim finally spoke. "We…are open to hearing more." He exhaled slowly.

Degra and Depac exchanged surprised looks, too shocked to even speak.

"So are we," Jannar added.

*We agree,* the aquatics confirmed via Hoshi.

Jannar folded his arms across his chest. "Please, continue."

Archer took a deep breath, and launched into the full story. At this point, the Xindi would either believe it or not; but he would not be accused of being anything less than completely honest with them. With the fate of Earth on the line, come win or lose, he was going to stick to the values that made Earth worth saving.

…

T'Pol's thickly-gloved fingers worked the computer controls as rapidly as possible as she sought the main databanks of the core. Time was at a premium deep within the belly of the Sphere; the dangers, real and imagined, loomed in the darkness around them.

Malcolm Reed kept scanning the interior of his shell with his phase rifle. Somewhere out there, something was moving; he didn't know what, but logic—and common caution—suggested that it was a defensive weapon, but his sight could not permeate the shadows beyond the lit glow of the core.

"Reed to Shuttlepod One," Malcolm called out, flipping open his hand communicator. "Do you have a location on that weapon, Travis?"

"No, sir," Travis answered over the comm system. "It stopped moving, and I lost any trace of it."

"Very well," Malcolm acknowledged nervously. "Let me know the moment you pick up anything."

"Of course, sir," Travis answered, and the channel beeped shut.

Malcolm turned his attention to T'Pol. "How much longer, Commander?"

"A few moments," T'Pol replied archly. She had finished downloading the databanks, and was guiding a plasticine cover back over the access panels.

"We don't need to leave it pretty, Commander," Malcolm countered tersely. "We need to get out of here."

"Got it!" Travis' excited voice reopened the comm. "It's moving again, in your direction. It's moving fast!"

Malcolm whipped his head upward and around. "I don't see it, Travis! Give me a direction!"

"Where is it?" Hawkins added his own tense voice to the comm chatter.

"Give me a direction, Travis!" Malcolm repeated forcefully. His eyes swept back and forth, but he picked up nothing.

"Got it—your relative left, Lieutenant! Up and away!"

Malcolm focused his daggered eyes into the obscurity. "Are you sure? I'm still not seeing it!"

"Damn sure, Lieutenant!" Travis repeated. "It's coming in fast—seventy meters! Fifty! Thirty!"

"Where the fuck is it?" Hawkins shouted out, his own rifle scanning frantically. The corporal's intensive training kept his panic subsiding, but it was a close battle—it was not easy, being attacked by an unseen foe.

"I see it!" Malcolm barked suddenly, and unleashed a barrage of energy packets. Hawkins whirled around, following the phase rifle fire, and saw it as well: shooting down at them, at the tip of a mechanical arm, was a four-pronged claw.

With a muscular kick, Hawkins shot himself off the floor of the computer chamber, launching himself halfway up the sloping walls. Anchoring himself around the rungs of a ladder, the MACO corporal opened fire at the claw, scarce meters away. From below, Malcolm added his own salvo of fire, bombarding the mechanical monstrosity.

The claw jumped back, as if stunned by the high-energy blitz, but Malcolm watched in dismay as the claw rebounded, as if unwounded. Moving far quicker than the humans in the zero-g environment, the claw shot forward towards Hawkins, and wrapped its prongs around the noncom.

Malcolm ceased his fire, unwilling to risk hitting the corporal until he targeted more precisely. Adjusting rapidly, the tactical officer reopened his fire, concentrating instead on the nearest mechanical joint of the arm, and the shock sent the arm jittering backwards again. "Hawkins!" Malcolm screamed out, uncertain if the corporal's comm system was online. The MACO twisted and turned in the grip of the claw, trying to wiggle himself loose.

T'Pol watched, horrified, as a spurt of blue energy erupted from the base of the claw, drilling Hawkins in mid-torso. She thought she could hear the human's screams of pain as it shot through his body, electrifying every nerve with massive shocks of energy, and she could see Hawkins wither in pain.

A moment later, the corporal's body disappeared, disintegrated into nothingness.

"Move it, T'Pol!" Malcolm's harsh tones knocked T'Pol from her reverie. As Reed provided cover fire, T'Pol catapulted herself across the empty center of the chamber and up one wall.

Malcolm unloaded burst after burst of energy fire from his rifle, barely able to keep pace with the movements of the claw. Every time he hit it, the claw would jump backwards, but it would rebound within an instant; Malcolm recognized that eventually the claw would beat him, and he needed to get out, now.

Keeping his aim targeted precisely, Malcolm scrambled up the side of the chamber, his magnetic boots giving him just enough grip to keep from floating off. He made his way up, continuing the weapons fire; from the corner of his eye, he saw movement—over there—above T'Pol's head.

Reed grimly recognized that it was a second mechanical claw, closing in quickly on the Vulcan, and he brought his rifle around to target the newcomer. In this case, proximity became Malcolm's friend; with his third shot, he drilled the claw precisely in its center, sending the device shooting backwards in a shower of sparks.

"Five more headed this way!" Travis shouted over the intercom. Malcolm's attention shot back to the first claw, which had used the distraction to slide even closer. Reed kept up his barrage of fire, as he peripherally noticed the shuttlepod hovering alongside the platform.

"Come on, Lieutenant!" Travis shouted again, and lowering his rifle, Malcolm turned and ran for the open hatchway on the side of the shuttlepod, dangling a meter away. With a firm up, the officer glided forward and into the protective interior, where T'Pol caught him and eased him into the shuttle's gravity field.

With a quick turn, Travis brought the shuttlepod about and leapt forward towards the exhaust vent.

…

Feb. 13, 2154

Christ, Archer thought, stifling another yawn. Is it another day already? Twenty-four hours ago, the Enterprisehad just emerged from the subspace corridor, en route to the Council planet. He could recall grabbing a couple hours of sleep early in the morning, during their trip, but…Degra had arrived early to conduct their preparations, and it had been a constant drumbeat of activity since then, letting up scarcely long enough for a single, quickly-snatched ration pack.

The second meeting in the Council Chamber had stretched on for nearly four hours, as Archer patiently told, then re-told, their lengthy story, beginning all the way back eight months ago with the mysterious warning from the Suliban's benefactor, up through their investigations of the Expanse and Archer's involuntary meetings with the human time-traveling agent, Daniels, all the way up to their discovery that the Xindi's Guardians were playing the five Xindi races for fools. That last point did not go over well; Archer had held his temper through repeated catcalls and accusations of fabrication, and more than one threat of being torn limb-from-limb.

The captain realized that it was the presence of allies in the Chamber that had saved his skin—figuratively and literally. Degra had been on fire, wading headfirst into every argument and debating every point and counterpoint with an impassioned brilliance that revealed the man's fierce, driving intelligence and passion for his people. It had been a performance for the ages. Archer hoped that the Xindi races would survive long enough to tell stories of Degra's courage and ardor.

And on those rare instances when the scientist faltered, Depac—and Jannar, the representative of the very non-confrontational arboreals—had leapt into the fray, holding steady against the ferocity of the accusations of treason made against them. Archer considered it a privilege to have stood side-by-side with these men.

In the end, the Council had lapsed into exhaustion, and the various delegates returned to their stone-hewn cells to discuss and make their individual decisions. At a loss for what to do, Archer returned to the Enterprise, hopeful that he could snatch a couple hours of sleep. But he was too wired, too jumpy, to relax, as he anxiously waited for the Council votes to come back. Physical exhaustion would be his only route to sleep.

Archer grimaced as he sipped the bitter liquid from his cup. Coffee was a delicacy, long since used up by the Starfleet crew; but Degra had graciously transferred several kilotons of foodstuffs to the hungry Enterprise, and amidst it was a root beverage that contained strong doses of a stimulant. The captain could feel the dull pain in his stomach, where the acid in the alien roots was aggravating his already-weakened stomach lining, but that was a minor concern. When one doesn't know if they'll live to see another day, priorities change.

"Captain, did you hear me?" Trip Tucker's voice broke into Archer's head. Unable to relax, the captain had come down to engineering to check on the status of repairs, and hopefully wear himself out with a hypospanner and a self-sealing stem bolt.

"Sorry, Trip," Archer apologized. He rubbed a cheek, and was surprised to find bristly stubble emerging. "My mind must've wandered."

"It's alright, Cap'n," Trip replied with a wry grin. "I know old age is catching up with you."

Archer couldn't help but smile in return. "Boy," he said, "I have wrinkles on my ass that are older than you."

"I was saying, I still can't pin down the problem with the converter," Trip repeated, sobering up. "We have an energy drain somewhere in the system—we're only getting fifty-five, maybe sixty percent of the power through."

Archer bit his lips as the hot liquid stung them. "That's not—what a moment, Commander." Archer subconsciously fell back into command demeanor as he saw Degra and Depac enter the main hatchway. Let this be good news, he thought to himself. Let this be good news.

"Captain Archer!" Degra waved to the human as he trotted into the engineering compartment. "There's been a development!"

"So I gathered!" Archer replied. "Don't hold us in suspense."

Depac broke into a broad grin. "We have the three votes we need, Captain!"

Archer's world slipped into a stunned silence at the words, the outside slipping into dimmed cone-shaped stillness. He couldn't help but repeat it in his head: We have the votes. We have the votes. We have the votes. Was it really possible?

Behind him, Tucker's slack-jawed face spoke volumes. Standing there, framed by the showering sparks of the battle-beaten Enterprise, the engineer went lightheaded. Trip didn't know what to make of the news. He knew he should be ecstatic; their mission was a success, the destruction of Earth averted. Why did he feel like he had lost?

Degra's next words pulled the captain from his reverie. "The reptilians provided the third vote," he reported. "They have agreed to postpone the launch of the weapon. They'll need more convincing before they agree to stop it completely, but this—" the Xindi primate held his hands open wide. "—This is a significant step, Captain, perhaps unprecedented for the Xindi people. This is a truly remarkable accomplishment."

The words cut through Archer's relief. "Wait—the reptilians provided the third vote? That can't be right."

Depac looked at the captain curiously. "Why not?"

Archer, taking a sip of his beverage, collected his thoughts. "It just—doesn't feel right," he said at last. "I didn't feel like we got through to them."

"Captain," Degra replied, "a week ago—even a few days ago—I would have thought it impossible as well. But you humans seem to have a knack for the impossible." The Xindi primate held a hand forward, in the hand-shaking gesture he had learned from Archer. "That future you spoke of—peace and cooperation between our peoples—perhaps this is where it begins, Captain. With the convincing of a couple hard-headed minds."

Perhaps, Trip realized, still unsteady under the flow of emotions. Perhaps this IS where it begins. And if they can move forward…the engineer took a gulp. "Question," he said, speaking up. "Those portable power cells you left us. We're having some trouble getting them in synch. Think you can…think you can stick around for a few minutes, give us a hand?"

Degra smiled. "I would be glad to, Commander."

Enough with the warm and fuzzy moment, Archer told himself. "Councilor." He addressed Depac. "We have quite a bit to discuss; would you like to join me in my ready room?"

"Of course, Captain," Depac nodded, and the pair promptly turned and left, already delving into a new conversation.

Trip chewed the inside of his cheek as he looked at Degra. "Listen…" His voice choked up with sorrow. "All those things I've been saying…" The grief welled up inside him as he pictured his sister's face. "Well, I…I know you went out on a limb." The words came out gutturally as he fought to say them. "I just want you to know that I recognize it."

Degra nodded in acknowledgement. "I don't deserve your forgiveness, Commander, nor do I expect it," he answered quietly. "But I do know this: the future will be made by people like you and me."

Trip swallowed furiously, trying to hold back the looming lump in his throat. "Let's get to work," he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "It's over this way."

…

Phlox's aquatic tank bubbled gently, providing life-giving oxygen for the delicate starfish resting at the bottom. It was pleasant, almost mesmerizing: a sharp contrast to the harsh destruction that surrounded him.

The doctor looked up as the sickbay doors slid open, revealing a yawning Trip Tucker. "Ah, greetings, Commander!" Phlox gave a welcome smile. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Yep," Tucker drawled slowly. "Just finished a marathon repair session with Degra, of all people. You'd think I'd be ready to sleep, but…" he gave a crooked smile. "To damn happy, I suppose."

Phlox grinned in answer. "Well, that's quite a change for you, Commander!"

Trip pointed to the corridor with his head. "There's a section of the mess hall up and running. In the mood for a snack?"

"Soitenly!" Phlox deadpanned.

Trip burst out laughing. "Sorry, Doctor," he managed between chuckles. "I haven't heard that one for a while."

"Oh, it's my pleasure, Commander. After you."

The two men walked down the corridor in companionable silence before Trip spoke again, this time with a degree of melancholy. "I guess you heard, the captain pulled it off," he remarked, folding his arms across his chest. "The Xindi postponed the weapon launch."

Phlox was troubled by Trip's tone. "You make that sound like bad news," he noted. "Isn't this the best outcome? We stop the weapon, and don't start a war in the process?"

"Yeah, I know, Doctor," Trip replied. "I just feel a little lost. Ever since the attack on Earth, all I've thought about is getting back at whoever was responsible."

"And now we are making peace with them," Phlox filled in. "And you're starting to respect Degra."

"Yep." Trip paused as they rounded a corner. "I've gotten used to the anger and the hatred. It was all I knew, for so many months—it was my strength, Doctor, it kept me pushing forward. Of course, it also landed me on one of your biobeds, but…"

"And now that it's gone, you don't know what to do."

"Damn right, Doctor. I should be happy, but…I just feel drained. I'm emotionally spent, and my body's been through hell. I know I'm better off, but I still feel like I…lost an old friend or something. Now, I don't know what I'm supposed to feel, what I'm supposed to be doing…it's like a complete unknown."

Phlox chuckled lightly. "You have other friends, Commander. The hatred was never a friend; it was just familiar. It can be like that; it's poisonous, but you don't want to let go and step into the unknown."

Tucker smiled wryly. "You'd make a great psychiatrist, Doctor. Say…is it my imagination, or are you losing weight?"

"Ah, I was hoping someone might notice!" Phlox replied with laughter.

"Yeah, I'm not the only one, Doc. Hoshi commented on it last week."

"Well, I'm pleased to see that my efforts are yielding results!" Phlox's grin expressed visual pleasure to accompany the verbal. "I'm proud to say that I've dropped nearly ten kilograms!"

"How'd you do it, Doc?" Trip stepped through a ragged hole in the bulkhead. The unrepaired wall provided a quicker route to the mess hall.

"A Denexian tapeworm," Phlox replied as he followed the engineer. The two stepped into the mess hall. "It's quite an elegant solution. It attaches itself to the lower intestinal tract and absorbs nutrients."

"Hold on, hold on," Trip said as they walked through the room. As the rest of the Enterprise, the mess hall was dimly lit, with only the narrow emergency strips providing recessed light; but it was enough to show the repair work that had been done. The starship may have been brutally wounded, but her crew was the best that Earth had to offer, and it showed; the debris was cleaned up, the tables rebuilt, the chairs fixed, and the carpet had even been cleaned. "You have a worm inside you?"

Phlox slid open the transparent door to the dessert cubby. "It's perfectly harmless, Commander—quite beneficial, really. And I hardly notice it at all. Would you care for some key lime pie?"

"Pie?" Trip said, astonished. "You have a worm inside you, and you think about pie? Actually, yeah, that sounds good." He took a dish from the cubby. "So how are you going to get the tapeworm out?"

"It's a simple procedure." Phlox poked around momentarily until he found a slice of cheesecake. "I insert a standard V probe into my—"

"No, no, no!" Trip waved him off quickly. "Please no! Never mind! Forget I asked!"

"But it's a simple procedure," Phlox replied, looking a little wounded.

"I'm sure it is, Doc." Trip held his pie up in front of him. "I just don't want to lose my appetite."

…

Years of Starfleet service had conditioned Archer to sleep in all sorts of environments, under all sorts of conditions—he could snooze through a pack of rampaging wildebeests one day, a screeching jaguar the next, and a freezing icepack on another. But nothing—the captain smiled in his sleep. Nothing compared to sleeping next to the quietly-snoring beagle that snuck onto the captain's bed every night. The soft snores, the warm mass, the excited puppy-face when the captain awoke—he never slept better than with his faithful friend, Porthos.

Lengthy conditioning had also trained the captain to awake whenever the comm chimed, and the soft sound brought Archer into an immediate state of awareness. Rolling off his bed, the captain noted in passing that it was actually midday aboard the ship, and he had managed to snatch three hours of sleep after sneaking away in the early morning hours.

Archer sighed and opened the visual comm link. No rest for the weary, he reflected. Or as that, no rest for the damned? Behind him, Porthos had already tunneled into the warm spot left over, and faint snores were emerging from under the sheets.

Depac's face filled the screen, and the councilor wasted no time. "Degra's dead."

The words hit Archer with a thunderous blast. Degra…dead? "How?" he asked, his mind reeling.

The answer was even worse. "Murdered. "He was found in the Council Chamber about an hour ago. He'd been stabbed."

Archer closed his eyes momentarily, trying to get a handle on the situation. How can Degra be dead? He asked himself. I just talked to him earlier! "Do you know who did it?" he stuttered out. He sat down slowly, vowing revenge for the martyred Xindi.

"I don't know, but I have a guess," Depac answered tersely. "The reptilians have called an emergency meeting of the Council."

"You think Dolim arranged for it?" Archer asked, whispering. The shock was still reverberating through him.

"Either that, or he did it himself." Depac looked grim. "You were right to suspect their recent turnabout. It looks like it was nothing more than a ruse to keep us off guard, until they could make their move. This is just the beginning—they're planning something, I'm certain of it. Your ship's in danger here, Captain. I can't guarantee your safety any longer."

Archer felt the weight of the world crash down on him. Everything they had accomplished—was it all a fraud? Had he been suckered in, hearing only the words, while Earth's enemies schemed towards its final destruction? Had they failed?

"Please keep me appraised, Councilor," Archer replied, his words firmer than he felt. With a nod, Depac ended the comm connection.

"Archer to the bridge."

"Bridge here," Hoshi's voice answered.

"Go to Tactical Alert, Ensign. Call general quarters."

…

[Earlier]

Degra rubbed his eyes furiously. The diurnal cycle of the Xindi homeworld was nearly forty Earth hours, but even with that extended of a day, sleep had to come eventually; his only consolation was that, while the primates only needed six or so hours of rest, the arboreals needed nearly twenty. It was the source of long, friendly needling between Degra and Jannar; at the same time, Jannar was undoubtedly sound asleep in one of the ascetic cells carved into the rock face, while Degra was staring, bleary-eyed, at a computer panel, trying to cram in a few more hours of work.

The Council Chamber, while ancient in its construction, had been upgraded over the centuries with carefully-concealed technology. One of the more commonplace pieces—a door chime—sounded, moments before the Chamber doors slid open.

"Come in," Degra said over his shoulder, before he set down his work. He looked backwards, and was surprised to see Dolim, the reptilian councilor, enter the room. "I wasn't expecting you," Degra noted, his instincts jumping to alert as the great doors slammed shut, sealing the two of them inside the Chamber. There was no one else present. The scientist's nerves stood on edge as the massive reptile crossed the room.

"I thought you would appreciate the opportunity to talk, just the two of us." Dolim's voice was even, perhaps even friendly. "The path of the Xindi can be a complicated one at times, and the Council often seems more interested in fighting amongst itself."

"Perhaps there are some things we need to discuss," Degra replied cautiously. He waited for Dolim to respond.

The reptile commander sauntered slowly across the Chamber. "I've never liked this place," he mused, seemingly apropos of nothing.

"Really?" Degra said, perhaps too flippantly. "I've always found it to be peaceful."

"It's too exposed," Dolim growled. He made his point by staring out the great windows. "Reptilians prefer to be near the ground. There's safety near the ground. Not up here, in the clouds."

"The Council Chamber was not chosen for its safety," Degra noted. "It was chosen to honor the avians—it is no surprise that they preferred to be high above. It is part of being Xindi—each race is different, but only together are we whole."

"Sometimes I wonder." Dolim's voice, while not a growl, harbored a dangerous edge. "Maybe that is only an excuse for weakness. Why else would we honor this stench, if not to absolve ourselves of our failures?" Dolim turned and paced toward the protected alcove bearing the avian skull.

"Stench?" Degra replied cautiously, following the reptile with his eyes.

"The stench of failure." Dolim's tone was biting. "The stench of a race that failed to survive."

"The avians' extinction is a failure on all our parts, not just their own," Degra shot back.

"Why do we waste our efforts on protecting the weak?" Dolim retorted scornfully. "It only holds back the strong."

Degra got up from his chair. "I was surprised by your agreement to postpone the launch." He added a special inflection on the word agreement.

Dolim seemed to ponder his response. "It seemed like the right thing to do," he replied finally. "We must make sure of whom our enemies truly are, before we attack them."

"I hope the other members will come to the same conclusion," Degra said, choosing his words carefully. "There is no reason to shed unnecessary blood."

"They'll fall into line," Dolim growled confidently as he resumed his pacing. "I have always believed that all Xindi long for unification. It's in our blood, be it warm or cold."

"I agree," Degra answered, certain that he did not at all agree with Dolim's version of unification.

"The Earth ship," Dolim noted suddenly, looking down at Degra's computer panel. "It is a marvelous warship—it has shown remarkable durability." He leaned closer to the panel to take a better look.

Degra inched forward protectively through the still air. "I'm assisting them with their engine repairs."

"How generous of you," Dolim answered. He straightened back up, and stepped forward to face Degra eye-to-eye. "They've found quite an ally in you, after all. It's a pity you haven't extended the same friendship to your fellow Xindi."

The stillness grew pregnant as Degra choked back his panic. "What do you mean?"

"We found our missing scout ship." Dolim's voice became razor sharp. "It was in the cloaking barrier of a Sphere."

Degra said nothing.

"We were able to extract the final scans it took before they were destroyed," Dolim continued. "It revealed the identity of their attacker." The reptile leaned even closer, until his stale breath swept over Degra's face. "It was you."

Degra's panic fought with his anger. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're not going to fool me, Degra," Dolim hissed. "I know it was you."

Degra could feel the heavy air dropping on him, cloaking him in heavy darkness. "They left me no choice," he hissed back. "The survival of the humans is imperative for the survival of the Xindi."

Dolim leaned even closer, until his breath swirled about in Degra's ear. "And you've left me no choice."

Degra gasped as he felt a sharp pain slice into his abdomen, the currents of shock streaking through his body.

"The crew of that ship are the last Xindi you'll ever betray," Dolim hissed as he twisted the knife blade deeper into Degra.

Dolim grasped Degra by the shoulder and pushed the primate back, yanking the blade out from Degra's torso. Degra gasped frantically for air as he fell to the stone floor, his arms wrapped around him, trying to hold his destroyed innards.

The reptilian leaned down over Degra. His eyes would be the last sight that the traitor would ever see. "When the humans have been eliminated, I will find your wife and children, and do the same to them."

Dolim held the viscous-draped knife up to Degra's face. "Your traitorous bloodline will end at the tip of my blade."

Degra's last sensation was the knife severing his throat.

…

T'Pol's world had shrunk around her, fading out until it encompassed her mind, and nothing beyond. It zeroed in about her, like a funnel; her vision glazed over as movement became fixed, unbending, unyielding to the demands of the universe. Sounds diminished, like the throaty whisper of a dying stream; her thoughts slowed, became disjointed, as if jumping from one to the next, instead of flowing smoothly down a well-worn path. A part of T'Pol recognized that she was bobbing and weaving in her chair, her movements uncontrolled and unbidden, but a greater part failed to recognize that she even had a body.

The sounds around her intruded dimly into T'Pol's shrunken world, echoing faintly. "It was that last run through the cloaking barrier." "The coil assembly's been damaged." "Reduce speed." If T'Pol concentrated, she could place an identity with each voice; but the face was there, and then gone, with the herky-jerky discontinuity of her mind. "Hold at half impulse." "Lieutenant, are you alright?" "I'm fine, damnit." "T'Pol?" "T'Pol?" "T'POL, ANSWER ME!"

With a jolt, T'Pol snapped out of her trance, and found Travis and Malcolm standing over her. Looks of concern and near-panic were etched into both faces, and Mayweather held a medical scanner aloft, taking the Vulcan's vital readings.

"T'Pol!" Malcolm repeated, shaking her by the shoulders. "Are you alright, Commander?"

There's a difficult question, T'Pol thought. AM I alright? What IS alright? I'm damaged—I know that.

"No, I am not alright," she whispered, causing Malcolm to lean in closer. "I should be removed from the command structure." Her logic warred to restore a sense of order to her chemical-addled brain.

"T'Pol, look at me." Malcolm knelt down in front of her, bringing himself eyelevel with the commander. "You went into some sort of seizure, or trance, or something. Are you back with us?"

No, she thought wildly. No, I'm not. She struggled to focus; she tried to send laser-like darts of thought through her circuit paths. "I am not here," she whispered. "And Hawkins is not here."

Malcolm glanced up at Travis with concern. "No, Commander," he answered. "Hawkins was killed in the Sphere. Remember?"

And T'Pol remembered.

She remembered him dying.

She remembered the mental scream of pain that shot through her diminished protections. She remembered the agony of being disintegrated, atom by atom. She remembered the intense panic, the realization that she would never see her family again. Wait—that HE would never see HIS family again. She remembered freezing up as the last bolt of fire consumed his body, the pain overwhelming her. It was only her intense training that allowed her to subconsciously move, run to the shuttlepod, and escape. I have to get distance. I have to get distance. I have to get distance!

"No, I am not alright," she whispered. "I must return to the Enterprise. I must see Phlox."

"Don't worry, Commander," Travis said softly. "We'll get you home."

…

"And you admit killing him?" Jannar snarled with unheard-of fury as he leaned forward on the Council table. "You won't even try to deny it?" In all his years of service, Jannar could never recall being so filled with anger.

"With pride!" Dolim snarled back, baring his fangs at the arboreal. "He was a traitor! He deserved to die!"

"He was a member of this Council!" Depac shouted furiously, adding to the stifling rage that filled the room. "How dare you take it upon yourself to judge him!"

"Degra destroyed a reptilian ship! Twenty-two crewmen died!" Dolim's bellow quaked thunderously. "I only regret not killing him sooner!"

"You're going to regret a lot more than that!" Depac thundered back. "You should be expelled from this Council for your actions!"

Dolim's voice dropped into an alarming growl. "This Council is dead, warm-blood. Just like your traitorous aide."

"Just why did you call this meeting?" Jannar returned to the fray. "To boast of your crimes?"

"You have a decision to make," Dolim snarled. "My men have taken control of the weapon. We're going to launch it."

"And you accuse Degra of being traitor!" Depac roared hotly, stepping forward provocatively.

The insectoid delegates moved to stand, protectively, in front of Dolim. *We are acting on behalf of all Xindi,* one of them chittered.

"We don't even know if the humans are a threat!" Jannar added harshly.

"The humans are our enemies!" Dolim rumbled furiously. "They intend the death of the Xindi people—and I, for one, will not stand by while they attack us and destroy us! We cannot wait for them to attack first—we must take this war to the humans, and do so now!" Dolim pounded a thick-scaled fist on the table. "No outcome—except complete victory, the annihilation of our enemies—will guarantee the security of the Xindi peoples!"

"Do you even care about the innocent people that you are threatening?" Depac shouted in stunned amazement.

"There are no innocents, when they have chosen to harbor our enemies!" Dolim snarled. "You have a choice to make: you either stand with us, or you stand against us!"

"That's not a choice!" Jannar retorted harshly. "It's an ultimatum!"

The aquatic councilor spoke for the first time. *We won't submit to intimidation!*

"Neither will we!" Depac added furiously.

"Nor will we!" Jannar glowered at the reptilian.

"Then this Council truly is finished!" Dolim growled. "We withdraw from it—and we will take the necessary actions to preserve the Xindi races!"

"Think about what you are doing!" Jannar bellowed. "This alliance has lasted for decades!"

"It's lasted too long!" Dolim roared in response. "You've become complacent—you've become appeasers and apologists, too scared to defend our birthright! Make no mistake, warm-blood: anyone who tries to stop us will be destroyed!"

…

Archer hit the bridge running. "Report!" he ordered harshly as he catapulted from the lift, into a bevy of alarms and sirens.

"Captain!" Rahimi's voice cut through first. "Five insectoid ships are descending toward the surface of planet A-1!"

"There's something happening down on its surface!" Hoshi added, having moved to cover T'Pol's usual science post. "I'm picking up a massive geophysical disturbance!"

Archer hit the comm panel as he fell into his chair. "Engineering!" he barked. "Status?"

"I can give you three-point-four with a little coaxing," Trip shouted back, "but some of the relays are still fried. We're in no shape for combat, sir!"

"That isn't going to stop us, Trip!" Archer retorted, and he severed the connection. "Hoshi, can you get me a visual of the planet?"

…

Delphi Iota 2398 A-1 was a class-F planet: a ball of geologically-active liquid rock restrained by a relatively-thin crust, encapsulated in a volatile hydrogen atmosphere. Not a good place to vacation, but a great place to hide a weapon the size of a large asteroid.

The viewscreen shifted to show the chalky-white crust forming the surface of the planet, and with a stuttering motion, it zoomed in, then zoomed in again, until the individual ridges and crevasses became apparent on the screen. The rock was quaking, as if something was trying to push through from below; here and there, clouds of dust erupted as the molecular bonds broke, shattering the rock into its constituent particles.

The rock leapt upwards and outwards as the massive weapon slowly staggered into liftoff.

…

"The insectoid ships are assuming formation around the weapon!" Rahimi called out. "The weapon's gaining altitude—it'll breach the stratosphere in…thirty seconds!"

"Any sign of other ships?" Archer asked in desperation as he watched the monstrosity on the viewscreen. The Enterprisewas helpless, standing on its own.

"I'm reading several engine signatures in the vicinity of B-1!" Rahimi answered. "They're too close to the planet to identify!"

"We're being hailed, Captain!" Hoshi added, spinning in her chair as the secondary comm relays lit up.

Depac's face came onto the screen. "The reptilians and insectoids have seized control of the weapon." He wasted no time on pleasantries.

"I thought they couldn't launch it on their own!" Archer shot back in frustration.

"They can launch it—but they don't have the firing codes!" Depac replied. "They must have a plan!"

Archer bit his lip to keep his fury from burning through. "Whatever it is, we have to stop them!"

"I've ordered all available ships to intercept, Captain," Depac answered, his face becoming grim. "The primates and arboreals have issued declarations of war."

…

In the outskirts of the Delphi Iota system, Shuttlepod One bore down on the Enterprisewith all the speed it could coax from its small engines, while onboard, T'Pol scrolled through the purloined memory banks as fast as her mind could comprehend it.

Malcolm whistled slowly over her shoulder, completely unable to keep up. "I hope there's something in there you can use."

"Most definitely," T'Pol replied, not looking up. "I daresay it might be enough to turn the tide in our favor. As soon as we catch up with the Enterprise—"

"We got a problem!" Travis shouted from the front of the pod. "There's a large group of ships leaving the system—and one of them is the Enterprise!"

…

"Stay with it!" Archer ordered harshly over the din of combat. The Enterpriseshook around him with the impact of weapons fire, and he gripped the back of Hutchinson's chair to keep erect. "Keep firing!" he ordered, glancing back at Rahimi.

"Sir, I'm getting a comm signal from the shuttlepod!" Hoshi shouted across the bridge.

"Tell them to keep away!" Archer replied. "We'll come back for them when we can!"

Outside, furious green fire criss-crossed through space as the battle progressed around the massive weapon, itself untouched by the high-energy beams. Nearly a dozen ships—evenly split between the two factions—were present, and they bobbed and weaved, plummeting into evasive patterns and ripping along attack vectors, as they engaged in a bewildering array of dogfights. The Enterprise, far less maneuverable than the smaller, battle-designed insectoid craft, hung on grimly, but it was a futile gesture.

Unless I change the battle-plan, Archer decided. He staggered across the rocking bridge to Hoshi. "Open a channel to Degra's ship!" Hoshi nodded when the audio channel was ready. "We're moving in on the weapon!" Archer shouted. The Enterprisewas the only ship with sufficient firepower to damage the monstrosity. "Can you keep those fighters off our tail?"

"We'll do our best!" Depac responded. "Concentrate your fire on the weapon's primary generators—six meters below the aft thrusters!"

Without saying anything more, Archer terminated the connection, and turned to Rahimi. "Heard it, sir!" the ensign shouted. "Targeting the phase cannons!"

…

Dolim's flagship shook around him as the battle continued, but he did not mind it: his ship, like the reptilians themselves, was built for battle, and would endure the pounding. Indeed, he was barely even aware of the weapons blasts it was taking; he screened it out of his consciousness, like an annoying, insignificant flea. His ship would hold up; and he had more important matters to attend to.

Like translating the firing codes belonging to the primates, arboreals, and aquatics.

"Forget the others!" he barked at his weapons officer. "Target the Enterprise!" He turned his attention to another officer. "Get the female!"

Archer struggled for footing as the Enterprisecontinued to rock around him. The careful repairs of the previous weeks were coming apart: the ship seemed to be ripping apart at the seams. Miniature explosions and shockwaves ripped through the rivets, tearing open conduits, and set off dozens of small fires across the bridge. The acrid smoke cloaked the air quickly, and with a concussive blast, a bulkhead behind the engineering station blew out completely, showering the bridge with plasticine debris.

"Keep your aim on the weapon!" Archer ordered, his voice growing hoarse with smoke and fine dust.

The sound of a transporter beam caused Archer's head to whirl back, just in time to see Hoshi disappear.

…

"We got her," the reptilian lieutenant growled.

"And the status of the Enterprise?" Dolim demanded.

"Their engines are disabled."

Good, Dolim told himself. Very good. "Take us into the vortex!"

…

Archer stared in horrified shock as the weapon—and its escorts—disappeared into a subspace vortex.

"We've lost them, sir," Hutchinson reported softly. "They're gone."